LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

GIFT  OF 
MRS.  EDWIN  CORLE 
IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  HORACE  ARMSTRONG 


i'i^lkhi 


LUCT  AT  THE  FOUKTAIN. 


The /Bride  of  Lammermoor 
AND  Keepsake  Stories  and 
Chronicle    of     Canongate 


By  SIR    WALTER    SCOTT 


R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY.  PUB- 
LISHERS :  9  &  II  E.  SIXTEENTH 
STREET  :  NEW  YORK  CITY  :  1900 


'i//^ 


iite<0)i>¥<SMOM=  mm 


The  Author,  on  a  former  occasion,  declined  giving  the  real 
source  from  which  he  drew  the  tragic  subject  of  this  history,*  be- 
cause, though  occurring  at  a  distant  period,  it  might  possibly  be 
unpleasing  to  the  feelings  of  the  descendants  of  the  parties.  But 
as  he  finds  an  account  of  the  circumstances  given  in  the  Notes  to 
Law's  Memorials,!  by  his  ingenious  friend  Charles  Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe,  Esq.,  and  also  indicated  in  his  reprint  of  the  Rev,  Mr. 
Symson's  Poems,  appended  to  the  Description  of  Galloway, J  as 
the  original  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  the  Author  feels  himself 
now  at  liberty  to  tell  the  tale  as  he  had  it  from  connections  of  his 
own, who  lived  very  near  the  period,  and  were  closely  related  to 
the  family  of  the  Bride. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  family  of  Dnlrymplp,  which  has  pro- 
duced within  the  space  of  two  centuries  as  many  men  of  talent, 
civil  and  military,  and  of  literary,  political,  and  professional  emi- 
nence, as  any  bouse  in  Scotland,  first  rose  into  distinction  in  the 
person  of  James  Dalrympic,  one  of  the  most  eminent  lawyers  that 
ever  lived,  though  the  labors  of  his  powerful  mind  were  unhappily 
exercised  on  a  subject  so  limited  as  Scottish  Jurisprudence,  on 
which  he  has  composed  an  admirable  work. 

He  married  Margaret,  daughter  to  Ross  of  Balniel,  with  whom 
he  obtained  a  considerable  estate.  She  was  an  able,  politic  and 
high-minded  woman,  so  successful  in  what  she  undertook,  chat  the 
vulgar,  no  way  partial  to  her  husband  or  her  family,  imputed  her 

*  Note  A.     Tlio  Family  of  Stair, 
t  Law's  Memorials,  4to,  1818,  p.  226.  J  See  note  to  p.  7. 


iv  WAJ'ERLEY  NOVELS. 

success  to  necromancy.  According  to  the  popular  belief,  this 
Dame  Margaret  purchased  the  temporal  prosperity  of  her  family 
from  the  Master  whom  she  served,  under  a  singular  condition, 
which  is  thus  narrated  by  the  historian  of  her  grandson,  the  great 
Earl  of  Stair  :  "  She  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  at  her  death  desired 
that  she  might  not  be  put  under  ground,  but  that  her  coffin  should 
be  placed  upright  on  one  end  of  it,  promising,  that  while  she  re- 
mained in  that  situation,  the  Dalrymples  should  continue  in  pros- 
perity. What  was  the  old  lady's  motive  for  such  a  request,  or 
whether  she  really  made  such  a  promise,  I  cannot  take  upon  me 
to  determine  ;  but  it  is  certain  her  coffin  stands  upright  in  the 
aisle  of  the  church  of  Kirkliston,  the  burial-place  of  the  family."  * 
The  talents  of  this  accomplished  race  were  suthcient  to  have  ac- 
counted for  the  dignities  which  many  members  of  the  family  at- 
tained, without  any  supernatural  assistance.  But  their  extraor- 
dinary prosperity  was  attended  by  some  equally  singular  family 
misfortunes,  of  which  that  which  befell  their  eldest  daughter  was 
at  once  unaccountable  and  melancholy. 

Miss  Janet  Dalrymple,  daughter  of  the  first  Lord  Stair,  and 
Dame  Margaret  Ross,  had  engaged  herself  without  the  knowledge 
of  her  parents  to  the  Lord  Rutherford,  who  was  not  acceptable  to 
them  either  on  account  of  his  political  principles,  or  his  want  of 
fortune.  The  young  couple  broke  a  piece  of  gold  together,  and 
pledged  their  troth  in  the  most  solemn  manner  ;  and  it  is  said  the 
young  lady  imprecated  dreadful  evils  on  herself  should  she  break 
her  plighted  faith.  Shortly  after,  a  suitor  who  was  favored  by 
Lord  Stair,  and  still  more  so  by  his  lady,  paid  his  addresses  to 
Miss  Dalrymple.  The  young  lady  refused  the  proposal,  and  being 
pressed  on  the  subject,  confessed  her  secret  engagement.  Lady 
Stair,  a  woman  accustomed  to  universal  submission  (for  even  her 
husband  did  not  dare  to  contradict  her),  treated  this  objection  as 
a  trifle,  and  insisted  upon  her  daughter  yielding  her  consent  to 
marry  the  new  suitor,  David  Dunbar,  son  and  heir  of  David  Dun- 
bar of  Baldoon,  in  Wigtonshire.  The  first  lover,  a  man  of  very 
high  spirit,  then  interfered  by  letter,  and  insisted  on  the  right  he 
had  acquired  by  his  troth  plighted  with  the  young  lady.  Lady 
Stair  sent  him  for  answer,  that  her  daughter,  sensible  of  her  un- 
dutiful  behavior  in  entering  into  a  contract  unsanctioned  by  her 
parents,  had  retracted  her  unlawful  vow,  and  now  refused  to  fulfil 
her  engagement  with  him. 

The  lover,  in  return,  declined  positively  to  receive  such  an  an- 
swer from  anyone  but  his  mistress  in  person  ;  and  as  she  had  to 
deal  with  a  man  who  was  both  of  a  most  determined  character,  and 
of  too  high  condition  to  be  trifled  with.  Lady  Stair  was  obliged  to 
consent  to  an  interview  between  Lord  Rutherford  and  her  daugh- 
ter. But  she  took  care  to  be  present  in  person,  and  argued  the 
point  with  the  disappointed  and  incensed  lover  with  pertinacity 
equal  to  his  own.  She  particalarly  insisted  on  the  Levitical  law, 
which  declares  that  a  woman  shall  be  free  of  a  vow  which  her  pa- 

*  Memoirs  of  John  Earl  of  Stair,  by  an  Impartial  Hand     London,  printed 
for  C.  Cobbet,  p.  7. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BKIDE  OF  lAMMERMOOR.     v 

rents  dissent  from.  This  is  the  passage  of  Scripture  she  founded 
on  : — 

"  If  a  man  vow  a  vow  unto  the  Lord,  or  swear  an  oath  to  bind 
his  soul  with  a  bond  ;  he  shall  not  break  his  word,  he  shall  do  ac- 
cording to  all  that  proceedeth  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  If  a  woman  also  vow  a  vow  unto  the  Lord,  and  bind  herself 
by  a  bond,  being  in  her  father's  house  in  her  youth  ; 

"  And  her  father  hear  her  vow,  and  her  bond  wherewith  she 
hath  bound  her  soul,  and  her  father  shall  hold  his  peace  at  her  : 
then  all  her  vows  shall  stand,  and  every  bond  wherewith  she  hath 
bound  her  soul  shall  stand. 

"  But  if  her  father  disallow  her  in  the  day  that  he  heareth  ;  not 
any  of  her  vows,  or  of  her  bonds  wherewith  she  hath  bound  her 
soul,  shall  stand  :  and  the  Lord  shall  forgive  her,  because  her 
father  disallowed  her." — Numbers  xxx.  2,  3,  4,  5. 

While  the  mother  insisted  on  these  topics,  the  lover  in  vain 
conjured  the  daughter  to  declare  her  own  opinion  and  feelings. 
She  remained  totally  overwhelmed,  as  it  seemed — mute,  pale,  and 
motionless  as  a  statue.  Only  at  her  mother's  command,  sternly 
uttered,  she  summoned  strength  enough  to  restore  to  her  plighted 
suitor  the  piece  of  broken  gold,  which  was  the  emblem  of  her  troth. 

On  this  he  burst  forth  into  a  tremendous  passion,  took  leave  of 
the  mother  with  maledictions,  and  as  he  left  the  apartment, 
turned  back  to  say  to  his  weak,  if  not  fickle  mistress,  "  For,  you, 
madam,  you  will  be  a  world's  wonder  ;  "  a  phrase  by  which  some 
remarkable  degree  of  calamity  is  usually  implied.  He  went 
abroad,  and  returned  not  again.  If  the  last  Lord  Rutherford  was 
the  unfortunate  party,  he  must  have  been  the  third  who  bore  that 
title,  and  who  died  in  1685. 

The  marriage  betwixt  Janet  Dalrymple  and  David  Dunbar  of 
Baldoon  now  went  forward,  the  bride  showing  no  repugnance,  but 
being  absolutely  passive  in  everything  her  mother  commanded  or 
advised.  On  the  day  of  the  marriage,  which,  as  was  then  usual, 
was  celebrated  by  a  great  assemblage  of  friends  and  relations,  she 
was  the  same — sad,  silent,  and  resigned,  as  it  seemed,  to  her 
destiny.  A  lady,  very  nearly  connected  with  the  family,  told  the 
author  that  she  had  conversed  on  the  subject  with  one  of  the 
brothers  of  the  bride,  a  mere  lad  at  the  time,  who  had  ridden  be- 
fore his  sister  to  church.  He  said  her  hand,  which  lay  on  his  as 
she  held  her  arm  round  his  waist,  was  as  cold  and  damp  as  mar- 
ble. But  full  of  his  new  dress,  and  the  part  he  acted  in  the  pro- 
cession, the  circumstance,  which  he  long  afterward  remembered 
with  bitter  sorrow  and  compunction,  made  no  impression  on  him 
at  the  time. 

The  bridal  feast  was  followed  by  dancing  ;  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom retired  as  usual,  when  of  a  sudden  the  most  wild  and  pierc- 
ing cries  were  heard  from  the  nuptial  chamber.  It  was  then  the 
custom,  to  prevent  any  coarse  pleasantry  which  old  times  admit- 
ted, that  the  key  of  the  nuptial  chamber  should  be  intrusted  to 
the  brideman.  He  was  called  upon  but  refused  at  first  to  give  it 
up,  till  the  shrieks  became  so  hideous  that  he  was  compelled  to 


vi      INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  I.AMMERMOOR. 

hasten  with  others  to  learn  the  cause.  On  opening  the  door,  they 
found  the  bridegroom  lying  across  the  threshold,  dreadfully 
wounded,  and  streaming  with  blood.  The  bride  was  then  sought 
for  :  She  was  found  in  the  corner  of  the  large  chimney,  having  no 
covering  save  her  shift,  and  that  dabbled  in  gore.  There  she  sat 
grinning  at  them,  mopping  and  mowing,  as  I  heard  the  expressioii 
used  ;  in  a  word,  absolutely  insane.  The  only  words  she  spoke 
were,  "Take  up  your  bonny  bridegroom."  She  survived  this 
horrible  scene  little  more  than  a  fortnight,  having  been  married  on 
the  24th  of  August,  and  dying  on  the  12th  of  September,  i66g. 

The  unfortunate  Baldoon  recovered  from  his  wounds,  but 
sternly  prohibited  all  inquiries  respecting  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  received  them.  If  a  lady,  he  said,  asked  him  any  questions 
upon  the  subject,  he  would  neither  answer  her  nor  speak  to  her 
again  while  he  lived  ;  if  a  gentleman,  he  would  consider  it  as  a 
mortal  affront,  and  demand  satisfaction  as  having  received  such. 
He  did  not  very  long  survive  the  dreadful  catastrophe,  having  met 
with  a  fatal  injury  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  as  he  rode  between 
Leith  and  Holyrood  House,  of  which  he  died  the  next  day,  28th 
March,  1682.  Thus  a  few  years  removed  all  the  principal  actors 
in  this  frightful  tragedy.  It  was  difficult  at  that  time  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  a  Scottish  family  above  the  lower 
rank  ;  and  strange  things  sometimes  took  place  there,  into  which 
even  the  law  did  not  scrupulously  inquire. 

The  credulous  Mr.  Law  says,  generally,  that  the  Lord  Presi- 
dent Stair  had  a  daughter,  who  "  being  married,  the  night  she 
was  bride  in  (that  is,  bedded  bride),  was  taken  from  her  bride- 
groom and  harlcd  (dragged)  through  the  house  (by  spirits  we  are 
given  to  understand),  and  soon  afterward  died.  Another  daughter," 
he  says,  "  was  possessed  by  an  evil  spirit." 

My  friend,  Mr.  Sharpe,  gives  another  edition  of  the  tale.  Ac- 
cording to  his  information,  it  was  the  bridegroom  who  wounded 
the  bride.  The  marriage,  according  to  this  account,  had  been 
against  her  mother's  inclination,  who  had  given  her  consent  in 
these  ominous  words  ;  "  You  may  marry  him,  but  soon  shall  you 
repent  it." 

I  find  still  another  account  darkly  insinuated  in  some  highly 
scurrilous  and  abusive  verses,  of  which  I  have  an  original  copy. 
They  are  docketed  as  being  written  "  Upon  the  late  Viscount 
Stair  and  his  family,  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  of  Whitelaw.  The 
marginals  by  William  Dunlop,  writer  in  Edinburgh,  a  son  of  the 
Laird  of  Househill,  and  nephew  to  the  said  Sir  William  Hamilton." 
There  was  a  bitter  and  personal  quarrel  and  rivalry  betwixt  the 
author  of  this  libel,  a  name  which  it  richly  deserves,  and  Lord 
President  Stair  ;  and  the  lampoon,  which  is  written  with  much 
more  malice  than  art,  bears  the  following  motto  : 

Stair's  neck,  mind,  wife,  sons,  grandson,  and  the  rest. 
Are  wry,  false,  witch,  pests,  parricide,  possessed. 

This  maligant  satirist,  who  calls  up  all  the  misfortunes  of  the 
family,  does  not  forget  the  fatal  bridal  of  Baldoon.     He  seems. 


INTRODUCTIO.V  TO  THE  BKIDf'l  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     vii 

though  his  verses  are  as  obscure  as  unpoetical,  to  intimate,  that 
the  violence  done  to  the  bridegroom  was  by  the  intervention  of 
the  foul  fiend,  to  whom  the  young  lady  had  resigned  herself,  in 
case  she  should  break  her  contract  with  her  first  lover.  His  hy- 
pothesis is  inconsistent  with  the  account  given  in  the  note  upon 
Law's  Memorials,  but  easily  reconcilable  to  the  family  tradition. 

In  al  Stair's  offspring  we  no  difference  know, 

They  doe  the  females  as  the  males  bestow  ; 

So  he  ofs  daughter's  marriage  gave  the  ward, 

Like  a  true  vassal,  to  Glenluce's  Laird  ; 

He  knew  what  she  did  to  her  suitor  plight, 

If  she  her  faith  to  Rutherfurd  should  slight, 

Which,  like  his  own,  for  greed  he  broke  outright. 

Nick  did  Baldoon's  posterior  right  deride, 

And  as  first  substitute,  did  seize  the  bride  ; 

Whate'er  he  to  his  mistress  did  or  said, 

He  drew  the  bridegroom  from  the  nuptial  bed. 

Into  the  chimney  did  so  his  rival  maul. 

His  bruised  bones  ne'er  were  cured  but  by  the  fall.* 

One  of  the  marginal  notes  ascribed  to  William  Dunlop  applies 
to  the  above  lines.  "She  had  betrothed  herself  to  Lord  Ruther- 
foord  under  horrid  imprecations,  and  afterward  married  Baldoon, 
his  nevoy,  and  her  mother  was  the  cause  of  her  breach  of  faith." 

The  same  tragedy  is  alluded  to  in  the  following  couplet  and 
note : — 

What  train  of  curses  that  base  brood  pursues. 
When  the  young  nephew  weds  old  uncle's  spouse. 

The  note  on  the  word  uncle  explains  it  as  meaning  "  Ruther- 
foord,  who  should  have  married  the  Lady  Baldoon,  was  Baldoon's 
uncle."  The  poetry  of  this  satire  on  Lord  Stair  and  his  family 
was,  as  already  noticed,  written  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  of 
Whitelawjt  a  rival  of  Lord  Stair  for  the  situation  of  President  of 
the  Court  of  Session  ;  a  person  much  inferior  to  that  great  lawyer 
in  talents,  and  equally  ill-treated  by  the  calumny  or  just  satire  of 
his  contemporaries,  as  an  unjust  and  partial  judge.  Some  of  the 
notes  are  by  that  curious  and  laborious  antiquary,  Robert  Milne, 
who,  as  a  virulent  Jacobite,  willingly  knt  a  hand  to  blacken  the 
family  of  Stair. J 

*  The  fall  from  his  horse,  by  which  he  was  killed. 

t  I  have  compared  the  satire,  which  occurs  in  the  first  volume  of  the  cu- 
rious little  collection  called  a  Book  of  Scottish  Pasquils,  1827,  with  that  which 
has  a  more  full  text,  and  more  extended  notes,  and  which  is  in  my  own  pos- 
session, by  gift  of  Thomas  Thomson,  Esq.,  Register-Depute.  In  the  second 
Book  of  Pasquils,  p.  72,  is  a  most  abusive  epitaph  on  Sir  James  Hamilton  of 
Whitelaw. 

X  [There  appeared  in  the  F.diubu>-i;h  Evenins^  Post  of  October  10,  1840 
(and  afterward  in  the  Lives  of  the  Lindsays,  p.  4.5Q),  n  letter  dated  Sejjtem- 
bersth,  1823,  addressed  by  Sir  J.  Home  Dalrymple  Elphinslone,  Bart.,  to 
the  late  Sir  James  Stewart  Denham  of  Coltness.  Bait  ,  hnth  des(  endanfs  of 
Lord  President  Stair,  from  which  it  appears  that,  according  to  the  traditional 
creed  of  the  Dalrymple  family,  the  Bride's    unhappy  lover,  Lord  Ruther- 


viii    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Another  poet  of  the  period,  with  a  very  different  purpose,  has 
left  ."xn  elegy,  in  which  he  darkly  hints  at  and  bemoans  the  fate  of 
the  ill-starred  young  person,  whose  very  uncommon  calamity 
Whitelaw,  Dunlop,  and  Milne,  thought  a  fitting  subject  for  buf- 
foonery and  ribaldry.  This  bard  of  milder  mood  was  Andrew 
Symson,  before  the  Revolution  minister  of  Kirkinner,  in  Gallo- 
way, and,  after  his  expulsion  as  an  Episcopalian,  following  the 
humble  occupation  of  a  printer  in  Edinburgh.  He  furnished  the 
family  of  Baldoon,  with  which  he  appears  to  have  been  intimate, 
with  an  elegy  on  the  tragic  event  in  their  family.  In  this  piece  he 
treats  the  mournful  occasion  of  the  bride's  death  with  mysterious 
solemnity. 

The  verses  bear  this  title — "  On  the  unexpected  death  of  the 
virtuous  Lady  Mrs.  Janet  Dalrymple,  Lady  Baldoon,  younger," 
and  afford  us  the  precise  dates  of  the  catastrophe,  which  could 
not  otherwise  have  been  easily  ascertained.  "  Nupta  August  12. 
Domum  Ducta  August  24.  Obiit  September  12.  Scpult.  Sep- 
tember 30,1669."  The  form  of  the  elegy  is  a  dialogue  betwixt  a 
passenger  and  a  domestic  servant.  The  first,  recollecting  that  he 
had  passed  that  way  lately,  and  seen  all  around  enlivened  by  the 
appearance  of  mirth  and  festivity,  is  desirous  to  know  what  had 
changed  so  gay  a  scene  into  mourning.  We  preserve  the  reply  of 
the  servant  as  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Symson's  verses,  which  are  not 
of  the  first  quality  : — 

-Sir,  'tis  truth  you've  told, 


We  did  enjoy  great  mirth  ;  but  now,  ah  me ! 

Our  joyful  song's  turn'd  loan  elegie. 

A  virtuous  lady,  not  long  since  a  bride. 

Was  to  a  hopeful  plant  by  marriage  tied. 

And  brought  home  hither.      We  did  all  rejoice, 

Even  for  her  sake.     Rut  presently  our  voice 

Was  turn'd  to  mourning  for  that  little  time 

That  she'd  enjoyed  :   She  waned  in  her  prime, 

For  Atropos,  with  her  impartial  knife. 

Soon  cut  her  thread,  and  therewithal  her  life  ; 

And  for  the  time  we  may  it  well  remember, 

It  being  in  unfortunate  September  ; 

Where  we  must  leave  her  till  the  resurrection, 

'Tis  then  the  Saints  enjoy  their  full  perfection.* 

Mr.  Symson  also  poured  forth  his  elegiac  strains  upon  the  fate 
of  the  widowed  bridegroom,  on  which  subject,  after  a  long  and 
querulous  effusion,  the  poet  arrives  at  the  sound  conclusion,  that 
if  Baldoon  had  walked  on  foot,  which  it  seems  was  his  general 
custom,  he  would  have  escaped  perishing  by  a  fall  from  horse- 
back.    As  the  work  in  which  it  occurs  is  so  scarce  as  almost  to  be 

ford,  had  found  means  to  be  secreted,  in  the  nuptial  chamber,  and  that  the 
wound  of  the  bridegroom.  Sir  David  Dunbar  of  Baldoon,  was  inflicted  by 
kutherford  s  hand.— J.  G.  LoCKiiART.] 

*  This  elegy  is  reprinted  in  the  apj^endix  to  a  topographical  work  by  the 
same  author,  entitled  A  Large  Description  of  Galloway,  by  Andrew  Symson, 
Minister  of  Kirkinner  (1684),  8vo  ;  W.  and  C.  'I'ait,  I'.dinburgh,  1823.  The 
reverend  gentleman's  elegies  are  bound  up  with  the  Tripatriarchicon  (1705) 
^  religious  poem  from  the  Biblicial  History,  by  the  same  author. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     ix 

unique,  and  as  it  gives  us  the  most  full  account  of  one  of  the  ac- 
tors in  this  tragic  tale  which  we  have  rehearsed,  we  will,  at  the 
risk  of  being  tedious,  insert  some  short  specimens  of  Mr.  Sym- 
son's  composition.     It  is  entitled — 

"  A  funeral  Elegie,  occasioned  by  the  sad  and  much  lamented 
death  of  that  worthily  respected  and  very  much  accomplished 
gentleman,  David  Dunbar,  younger  of  Baldoon,  only  son  and  ap- 
parent heir  to  the  right  woi'shipful  Sir  David  Dunbar  of  baldoon, 
Knight  Baronet.  He  departed  this  life  on  March  28,  1682,  having 
received  a  bruise  by  a  fall,  as  he  was  riding  the  day  preceding 
betwixt  Leith  and  Holy-Rood-Housc  ;  and  was  honorably  interred 
in  the  Abbey  church  of  Holy-Rood-House,  on  April  4,  1682." 

Men  might,  and  very  justly  too,  conclude 

Me  guilty  of  the  worst  ingratitude. 

Should  I  be  silent,  or  should  I  forbear 

At  this  sad  accident  to  shed  a  tear  ; 

A  tear  1  said  I  ?  ah  !  that's  a  petit  thing, 

A  very  lean,  slight,  slender  offering. 

Too  mean,  I'm  sure,  for  me,  wherewith  t'attend 

The  unexpected  funeral  of  my  friend — 

A  glass  of  briny  tears  charged  up  to  th'  brim 

Would  be  too  few  for  me  to  shed  for  him. 

The  poet  proceeds  to  state  his  intimacy  with  the  deceased,  and 
the  constancy  of  the  young  man's  attendance  on  public  worship, 
which  was  regular,  and  had  such  effect  upon  two  or  three  others 
that  were  influenced  by  his  example, 

So  that  my  Muse  'gainst  Priscian  avers, 
He,  only  he,  were  my  parishioners  ; 
Yea,  and  my  only  hearers. 

He  then  describes  the  deceased  in  person  and  manners,  from 
which  it  appears  that  more  accomplishments  were  expected  in  the 
composition  of  a  fine  gentleman  in  ancient  than  modern  times :  — 

His  body,  though  not  very  large  or  tall. 

Was  sprightly,  active,  yea,  and  strong  withal. 

His  constitution  was,  if  riglu  I've  guessed. 

Blood  mixt  with  choler,  said  to  be  the  best. 

In's  gesture,  converse,  speech,  discourse,  attire, 

He  practis'd  that  which  wise  men  still  admire. 

Commend,  and  recommend.     What's  that  ?  you'll  say; 

'Tis  this  :  He  ever  choos'd  the  middle  way 

'Twixt  both  th'  extremes.     Almost  in  ev'ry  thing 

He  did  the  like,  'tis  worth  our  noticing  : 

Sparing,  yet  not  a  niggard  ;  liberal, 

And  yet  not  lavish  or  a  prodigal. 

As  knowing  when  to  spend  and  when  to  spare  ; 

And  that's  a  lesson  which  not  many  are 

Acquainted  with.     He  bashful  was,  yet  daring 

When  he  saw  cause,  and  yet  therein  hut  sparing  ; 

Familiar,  yet  not  common,  for  he  knew 

To  condes'-end,  and  keep  his  distance  ton. 

He  us'd,  and  that  most  commonly,  to  go 

On  foot  ;  I  wish  that  he  had  still  done  so. 


X      INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Th'  affairs  of  court  were  unto  him  well  known, 

And  yet  meanwhile  he  slighted  not  his  own  ; 

He  knew  full  well  how  to  behave  at  court, 

And  yet  but  seldonie  did  thereto  resort  ; 

But  lov'd  the  country  life,  choos'd  to  inure 

Himself  to  past'rage  and  agriculture: 

Proving,  improving,  ditching,  trenching,  draining, 

Viewing,  reviewing,  and  by  those  means  gaining  : 

Planting,  transplanting,  levelling,  erecting 

Walls,  chambiirs,  houses,  terraces  ;  projecting 

Now  this,  now  that  device,  this  draught,  that  measure, 

That  might  advanc  e  his  profit  with  his  pleasure. 

Quick  in  his  bargains,  honest  in  commerce. 

Just  in  his  dealings,  being  much  averse 

From  quirks  of  law,  still  ready  to  refer 

His  cause  t'  an  honest  country  arbiter. 

He  was  acquainted  with  cosmography, 

Arithmetic,  and  modern  history  ; 

With  architecture  and  such  arts  as  these, 

Which  I  may  call  specifick  sciences 

Fit  for  a  gentleman  ;  and  surely  he 

That  knows  them  not,  at  least  in  some  degree, 

May  brook  the  title,  but  he  wants  the  thing. 

Is  but  a  shadow  scarce  worth  noticing. 

He  learned  the  French,  be't  spoken  to  his  praise, 

In  very  little  more  than  fourty  days. 

Then  conies  the  full  burst  of  woe,  in  which,  instead  of  saying 
much  himself,  the  poet  informs  us  what  the  ancients  would  have 
said  on  such  an  occasion  : 

A  heathen  poet,  at  the  news,  no  doubt, 

Would  have  exclaimed,  and  furiously  cry'd  out 

Against  the  fates,  the  destinies,  and  Starrs, 

What !  this  the  effect  of  planetarie  warrs  ! 

We  might  have  seen  him  rage  ;ind  rave,  yea  worse, 

'Tis  very  like  we  might  have  heard  him  curse 

The  year,  the  month,  the  day,  the  hour,  the  place, 

The  company,  the  wager,  and  the  race  ; 

Decry  all  recreations  with  the  names 

Of  Isthmian,  Pythian,  and  C)lympic  games  ; 

Exclaim  against  them  all,  both  old  and  new, 

Both  the  Nemajan  and  the  Lethasan  too: 

Adjudge  all  persons  under  highest  pain 

Always  to  walk  on  foot,  and  then  again, 

Order  all  horses  to  be  hough'd,  that  we 

Might  never  more  the  like  adventure  see. 

Supposing  our  readers  have  had  enough  of  Mr.  Symson's  verses, 
and  finding  nothing  more  in  his  poem  worthy  of  transcription,  we 
return  to  the  tragic  story. 

It  is  needless  to  point  out  to  the  intelligent  reader  that  the 
witchcraft  of  the  mother  consisted  only  in  the  ascendency  of  a 
powerful  mind  over  a  weak  and  melancholy  one,  and  that  the 
harshness  with  which  she  exercised  her  superiority  in  a  case  of 
delicacy  had  driven  her  daughter  first  to  despair,  then  to  frenzy. 
Accordingly,  the  author  has  endeavored  to  explain  the  tragic  tale 
on   this  principle.     Whatever   resemblance  Lady  Ashton  may  be 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     xi 

supposed  to  possess  to  the  celebrated  Dame  Margaret  Ross,  the 
reader  must  not  suppose  that  there  was  any  idea  of  tracing  the 
portrait  of  the  first  Lord  Viscount  Stair  in  the  tricky  and  mean- 
spirited  Sir  Wilham  Ashton.  Lord  Stair,  whatever  might  be  his 
moral  qualities,  was  certainly  one  of  the  first  statesmen  and  law- 
yers of  his  age. 

The  imaginary  castle  of  Wolf's  Crag  has  been  idestified  by 
some  lover  of  locality  with  that  of  Fast  Castle.  The  author  is  not 
competent  to  judge  of  the  resemblance  betwixt  the  real  and  im- 
aginary scene,  having  never  seen  Fast  Castle  except  from  the  sea. 
Butfortaliccs  of  this  description  are  found  occupying,  like  ospreys' 
nests,  projecting  rocks  or  promontories,  in  many  parts  of  the  east- 
ern coast  of  Scotland,  and  the  position  of  Fast  Castle  seems  cer- 
tainly to  resemble  that  of  Wolf's  Crag  as  much  as  any  other, 
while  its  vicinity  to  the  mountain  ridge  of  Lammermoor  renders 
the  assimilation  a  probable  one. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  bride- 
groom, by  a  fall  from  horseback,  has  been  in  the  novel  trans- 
ferred  to  the  no  less  unfortunate  lover.* 

*  [Note  B.     Illness  of  the  Author,  and  dictation  of  the  Novel.] 


PRELIMINARY. 

By  catik  and  keel  to  win  your  bread, 
Wi'  whigmaleeries  for  them  wha  need, 
Whilk  is  a  gentle  trade  indeed 

To  carry  the  gaberlunzieon. 

Old  Song. 

Few  have  been  in  my  secret  while  I  was  compiling  these  nar- 
ratives, nor  is  it  probable  that  they  will  ever  become  public  during 
the  life  of  their  author.  Even  were  that  event  to  happen,  I  am  not 
ambitious  of  the  honored  distinction,  digito  monstrari.  I  confess 
that,  were  it  safe  to  cherish  such  dreams  at  all,  I  should  more 
enjoy  the  thought  of  remaining  behind  the  curtain  unseen,  like  the 
ingenious  manager  of  Punch  and  his  wife  Joan,  and  enjoying  the 
astonishment  and  conjectures  of  my  audience.  Then  might  I, 
perchance,  hear  the  productions  of  the  obscure  Peter  Pattieson 
praised  by  the  judicious,  and  admired  by  the  feeling,  engrossing 
the  young,  and  attracting  even  the  old  ;  while  the  critic  traced 
their  fame  up  to  some  name  of  literary  celebrity,  and  the  question 
when  and  by  whom  these  tales  were  written  filled  up  the  pause 
of  conversation  in  a  hundred  circles  and  coteries.  This  I  may 
never  enjoy  during  my  lifetime  ;  but  further  than  this,  I  am  cer- 
tain, my  vanity  should  never  induce  me  to  aspire. 

I  am  too  stubborn  in  habits  and  too  little  polished  in  manners 
to  envy  or  aspire  to  the  honors  assigned  to  my  literary  contempo- 
raries. I  could  not  think  a  whit  more  highly  of  myself  were  I  even 
found  worthy  to  "come  in  place  as  a  lion"  for  a  winter  in  the 
great  metropolis.  I  could  not  rise,  turn  round,  and  show  all  my 
honors,  from  the  shaggy  mane  to  the  tufted  tail,  roar  you  an 
'twere  any  nightingale,  and  so  lie  down  again  like  a  well-behaved 
beast  of  show,  and  all  at  the  cheap  and  easy  rate  of  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter  as  thin  as  a  wafer.  And  I 
could  ill  stomach  the  fulsome  flattery  with  which  the  lady  of  the 
evening  indulges  her  show  monsters  on  such  occasions,  as  she 
crams  her  parrots  with  sugar-plums,  in  order  to  make  them  talk 
before  company.  I  cannot  be  tempted  to  "  come  aloft"  for  these 
marks  of  distinction,  and,  like  imprisoned  Samson,  I  would  rather 
remain — if  such  must  be  the  alternative — all  my  life  in  the  mill 
house,  grinding  for  my  very  bread,  than  be  brought  forth  to  make 
sport  for  the  Philistine  lords  and  ladies!  This  proceeds  from  no 
dislike,  real  or  affected,  to  the  aristocracy  of  these  realms.  But 
they  have  their  nlace,  and  I  have  mine  ;  and,  like  the  iron  and 
earthen  vessels  in  the  old  fable,  we  can  scarce  come  into  collision 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     xiii 

without  my  being  the  sufferer  in  every  sense.  It  may  be  other- 
wise with  the  sheets  which  I  am  now  writing.  These  may  Idc 
opened  and  laid  aside  at  pleasure  ;  by  amusing  themselves  with 
the  perusal,  the  great  will  excite  no  false  hopes  ;  by  neglecting  or 
condemning  them,  they  will  inflict  no  pain  ;  and  how  seldom  can 
they  converse  with  those  whose  minds  have  toiled  for  their  de- 
light, without  doing  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

In  the  better  and  wiser  tone  of  feeling,  which  Ovid  only  ex- 
presses in  one  line  to  retract  in  that  which  follows,  I  can  addi^ess 
these  quires — 

Parve,  nee  invideo,  sine  me,  liber,  ibis  in  urbem. 

Nor  do  I  join  the  regret  of  the  illustrious  exile,  that  he  himself 
could  not  in  person  accompany  the  volume  which  he  sent  forth  to 
the  mart  of  literature,  pleasure,  and  luxury.  Were  there  not  a 
hundred  similar  instances  on  record,  the  fate  of  my  poor  friend 
and  school-fellow,  Dick  Tinto,  would  be  sufficient  to  warn  me 
against  seeking  happiness  in  the  celebrity  which  attaches  itself  to 
a  successful  cultivator  of  the  fine  arts. 

Dick  Tinto,  when  he  wrote  himself  artist,  was  wont  to  derive 
his  origin  from  the  ancient  family  of  Tinto  of  that  ilk,  in  Lanark- 
shire, and  occasionally  hinted  that  he  had  somewhat  derogated 
from  his  gentle  blood,  in  using  the  pencil  for  his  principal  means 
of  support.  But  if  Dick's  pedigree  was  correct,  some  of  his  an- 
cestors must  have  suffered  a  more  heavy  declension,  since  the 
good  man  his  father  executed  the  necessary,  and,  I  trust,  the 
honest  but  certainly  not  very  distinguished,  employment  of  tailor 
in  ordinary  to  the  village  of  Langdirdum  in  the  west.  Under  his 
humble  roof  was  Richard  born,  and  to  his  father's  humble  tr.-^de 
was  Richard,  greatly  contrary  to  his  inclination,  early  indentured. 
Old  Mr.  Tinto  had,  however,  no  reason  to  congratulate  himself 
upon  having  compelled  the  youthful  genius  of  his  son  to  forsake 
its  natural  bent.  He  fared  like  the  schoolboy  who  attempts  to 
stop  with  his  finger  the  spout  of  a  water  cistern,  while  the  stream, 
exasperated  at  this  compression,  escapes  by  a  thousand  uncalcu- 
lated  spirts,  and  wets  him  all  over  for  his  pains.  Even  so  fared 
the  senior  Tinto,  when  his  hopeful  apprentice  not  only  exhausted 
all  the  chalk  in  making  sketches  upon  the  shop-board,  but  even 
executed  several  caricatures  of  his  father's  best  customers,  who 
began  loudly  to  murmur  that  it  was  too  hard  to  have  their  per- 
sons deformed  by  the  vestments  of  the  father,  and  to  be  at  the 
same  time  turned  into  ridicule  by  the  pencil  of  the  son.  This  led 
to  discredit  and  loss  of  practice,  until  the  old  tailor,  yielding  to 
destiny  and  to  the  entreaties  of  his  son,  permitted  him  to  attempt 
his  fortune  in  a  line  for  which  he  was  better  qualified. 

There  was  about  this  time,  in  the  village  of  Langdirdum,  a  per- 
ipatetic brother  of  the  brush,  who  exercised  his  vocation  S2ib  Jo7>c 
frigido,  the  object  of  admiration  to  all  the  boys  of  the  village,  but 
especially  to  Dick  Tinto.  The  age  had  not  yet  adopted,  amongst 
Other  unworthy  retrenchments,  that  illiberal  measure  of  economy 


xiv    INTR  OD  UCTIOX  7  V  THE  BKWE  OF  LA  MMERMO  OR. 

which,  supplying  by  written  characters  the  lack  of  symbolical  rep- 
resentation, closes  one  open  and  easy  accessible  avenue  of  in- 
struction and  emolument  against  the  students  of  the  fine  arts.  It 
was  not  yet  permitted  to  write  upon  the  plastered  door-way  of  an 
alehouse  or  the  suspended  sign  of  an  inn,  "The  Old  Magpie,"  or 
"  The  Saracen's  Head,"  substituting  that  cold  description  for  the 
lively  effigies  of  the  plumed  chatterer  or  the  turban'd  frown  of 
the  terrific  soldan.  That  early  and  more  simple  age  considered 
alike  the  necessities  of  all  ranks,  and  depicted  the  symbols  of  good 
cheer  so  as  to  be  obvious  to  all  capacities  ;  well  judging  that  a 
man  who  could  not  read  a  syllable  might  nevertheless  love  a  pot 
of  good  ale  as  well  as  his  better-educated  neighbors,  or  even  as  the 
parson  himself.  Acting  upon  this  liberal  principle,  publicans  as 
yet  hung  forth  the  painted  emblems  of  their  calling,  and  sign- 
painters,  if  they  seldom  feasted,  did  not  at  least  absolutely  starve. 

To  a  worthy  of  this  decayed  profession,  as  we  have  already  in- 
timated, Dick  Tinto  became  an  assistant  ;  and  thus,  as  is  not 
unusual  among  heaven-born  geniuses  in  this  department  of  the 
fine  arts,  began  to  paint  before  he  had  any  notion  of  drawing. 

His  talent  for  observing  nature  soon  induced  him  to  rectify  the 
errors  and  soar  above  the  instructions  of  his  teacher.  He  particu- 
larly shone  in  painting  horses,  that  being  a  favorite  sign  in  the 
Scottish  villages  ;  and,  in  tracing  his  progress,  it  is  beautiful  to  ob- 
serve how,  by  degrees,  he  learned  to  shorten  the  backs  and  pro- 
long the  legs  of  these  noble  animals,  until  they  came  to  look  less 
like  crocodiles,  and  more  like  nags.  Detraction,  which  always 
pursues  merit  with  strides  proportioned  to  its  advancement,  has 
indeed  alleged  that  Dick  once  upon  a  time  painted  a  horse  with 
five  legs,  instead  of  four.  I  might  have  rested  his  defence  upon 
the  license  allowed  to  that  branch  of  his  profession,  which,  as  it 
permits  all  sorts  of  singular  and  irregular  combinations,  may  be 
allowed  to  extend  itself  so  far  as  to  bestow  a  limb  supernumerary 
on  a  favorite  subject.  But  the  cause  of  a  deceased  friend  is  sacred  ; 
and  I  disdain  to  bottom  it  so  superficially.  I  have  visited  the  sign 
in  question,  which  yet  swings  exalted  in  the  village  of  Langdirdum  ; 
and  I  am  ready  to  depone  upon  oath,  that  what  has  been  idly  mis- 
taken or  misrepresented  as  being  the  fifth  leg  of  the  horse  is,  in 
fact,  the  tail  of  that  quadruped,  and,  considered  with  reference  to 
the  posture  in  which  he  is  delineated,  forms  a  circumstance  in- 
troduced and  managed  with  great  and  successful,  though  daring, 
art.  The  nag  Ijcing  represented  in  a  rampant  or  rearing  posture, 
the  tail,  which  is  prolonged  till  it  touches  the  ground,  appears  to 
form  a  point  (Vappui,  and  gives  the  firmness  of  a  tripod  to  the 
figure,  without  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive,  placed  as 
the  feet  are,  how  the  courser  could  maintain  his  ground  without 
tumljling  backward.  This  bold  conception  has  fortunately  fallen 
into  the  custody  of  one  by  whom  it  is  duly  valued  ;  for,  when  Dick, 
in  his  more  advanced  state  of  proficiency,  became  dubious  of  the 
propriety  of  so  daring  a  deviation  from  the  established  rules  of  art, 
and  was  desirous  to  execute  a  picture  of  the  publican  himself  in 
exchange  for  this  juvenile  production,  the  courteous  offer  was  de- 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.      xv 

clined  by  his  judicious  employer,  who  had  observed,  it  seems, 
that  when  his  ale  failed  to  do  its  duty  in  conciliating  his  guests,  one 
glance  at  his  sign  was  sure  to  put  them  in  good  humor. 

It  would  be  foreign  to  my  present  purpose  to  trace  the  steps  by 
which  Dick  Tinto  improved  his  touch,  and  corrected,  by  the  rules 
of  art,  the  luxuriance  of  a  fevered  imagination.  The  scales  fell 
from  his  eyes  on  viewing  the  sketches  of  a  contemporary,  the 
Scottish  Teniers,  as  Wilkie  has  been  deservedly  styled.  He  threw 
down  the  brush,  took  up  the  crayons,  and,  amid  hunger  and  toil 
and  suspense  and  uncertainty,  pursued  the  path  of  his  profession 
under  better  auspices  than  those  of  his  original  master.  Still  the 
first  rude  emanations  of  his  genius  (like  the  nursery  rhymes  of 
Pope,  could  these  be  recovered)  will  be  dear  to  the  companions  of 
Dick  Tinto's  youth.  There  is  a  tankard  and  gridiron  painted  over 
the  door  of  an  obscure  change-house  in  the  Back-wynd  of  Gander- 
cleugh — but  I  feel  I  must  tear  myself  from  the  subject,  or  dwell  on 
it  too  long. 

Amid  his  wants  and  struggles,  Dick  Tinto  had  recourse,  like  his 
brethren,  to  levying  that  tax  upon  the  vanity  of  mankind  which  he 
could  not  extract  from  their  taste  and  liberality— in  a  word,  he 
painted  portraits.  It  was  in  this  more  advanced  state  of  profi- 
ciency, when  Dick  had  soared  above  his  original  line  of  business, 
and  highly  disdained  any  allusion  to  it,  that,  after  having  been 
estranged  for  several  years,  we  again  met  in  the  village  of  Gan- 
dercleugh,  I  holding  my  present  situation,  and  Dick  painting 
copies  of  the  human  face  divine  at  a  guinea  a  head.  This  was  a 
small  premium,  yet,  in  the  first  burst  of  business,  it  more  than 
sufficed  for  all  Dick's  moderate  wants  ;  so  that  he  occupied  an 
apartment  at  the  Wallace  Inn,  cracked  his  jest  with  impunity  even 
upon  mine  host  himself,  and  lived  in  respect  and  observance  with 
the  chambermaid,  hostler,  and  waiter. 

Those  halcyon  days  were  too  serene  to  last  long.  When  his 
honor  the  Laird  of  Gandcrcleugh,  with  his  wife  and  three  daugh- 
ters, the  minister,  the  gauger,  mine  esteemed  patron  Mr.  Jedediah 
Cleishbotham,  and  some  round  dozen  of  the  feuars  and  farmers, 
had  been  consigned  to  immortality  by  Tinto's  brush,  custom  be- 
gan to  slacken,  and  it  was  impossible  to  wring  more  than  crowns 
and  half  crowns  from  the  hard  hands  of  the  peasants  whose  ambi- 
tion led  them  to  Dick's  painting  room. 

Still,  though  the  horizon  was  overclouded,  no  storm  for  some 
time  ensued.  Mine  host  had  Christian  faith  with  a  lodger  who 
had  been  a  good  paymaster  as  long  as  he  had  the  means.  And 
from  a  portrait  of  our  landlord  himself,  grouped  with  his  wife  and 
daughters,  in  the  style  of  Rubens,  which  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
best  parlor,  it  was  evident  that  Dick  had  found  some  mode  of  bar- 
tering art  for  the  necessaries  of  life. 

Nothing,  however,  is  more  precarious  than  resources  of  this 
nature.  It  was  observed  that  Dick  became  in  his  turn  the  whet- 
stone of  mine  host's  wit,  without  venturing  either  at  defence  or 
retaliation;  that  his  easel  was  transferred  to  a  garret-room,  in 
which  there  was  scarce  space  for  it  to  stand  upright ;  and  that  he 


xvi    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  lAMMERMOOR. 

no  longer  ventured  to  join  the  weekly  club,  of  which  he  had  been 
once  the  life  and  soul.  In  short,  Dick  Tinto's  friends  feared  that 
he  had  acted  like  the  animal  called  the  sloth,  which,  having  eaten 
up  the  last  green  leaf  upon  the  tree  where  it  had  established  itself, 
ends  by  tumbling  down  from  the  top,  and  dying  of  inanition.  I 
ventured  to  hint  this  to  Dick,  recommended  his  transferring  the 
exercise  of  his  inestimable  talent  to  some  other  sphere,  and  for- 
saking the  common  which  he  might  be  said  to  have  eaten  bare. 

"  There  is  an  obstacle  to  my  change  of  residence,"  said  my 
friend,  grasping  my  hand  with  a  look  of  solemnity. 

"A  bill  due  to  my  landlord,  I  am  afraid?"  replied  I,  with 
heartfelt  sympathy  ;  "  if  any  part  of  my  slender  means  can  assist 
in  this  emergency " 

*'  No,  by  the  soul  of  Sir  Joshua !  "  answered  the  generous 
youth,  "  I  will  never  involve  a  friend  in  the  consequences  of  my 
own  misfortune.  There  is  a  mode  by  which  I  can  regain  my  lib- 
erty ;  and  to  creep  even  through  a  common  sewer  is  better  than 
to  remain  in  prison." 

I  did  not  perfectly  understand  what  my  friend  meant.  The 
muse  of  painting  appeared  to  have  failed  him,  and  what  other 
goddess  he  could  invoke  in  his  distress  was  a  mystery  to  me.  We 
parted,  however,  without  further  explanation,  and  I  did  not  again 
see  him  until  three  days  after,  when  he  summoned  me  to  partake 
of  xSxQfoy  with  which  his  landlord  proposed  to  regale  him  ere  his 
departure  for  Edinburgh. 

I  found  Dick  in  high  spirits,  whistling  while  he  buckled  the 
small  knapsack  which  contained  his  colors,  brushes,  palettes,  and 
clean  shirt.  That  he  parted  on  the  best  terms  with  mine  host  was 
obvious  from  the  cold  beef  set  forth  in  the  low  parlor,  flanked  by 
two  mugs  of  admirable  brown  stout  ;  and  I  own  my  curiosity  was 
excited  concerning  the  means  through  which  the  face  of  my 
friend's  affairs  had  been  so  suddenly  improved.  I  did  not  suspect 
Dick  of  dealing  with  the  devil,  and  by  what  earthly  means  he  had 
extricated  himself  thus  happily  I  was  at  a  total  loss  to  conjecture. 

He  perceived  my  curiosity,  and  took  me  by  the  hand.  "My 
friend,"  he  said,  "fain  would  I  conceal,  even  from  you,  the  degra- 
dation to  which  it  has  been  necessary  to  submit  in  order  to  ac- 
complish an  honorable  retreat  from  Gandcrclcugh.  But  what 
avails  attempting  to  conceal  that  which  must  needs  betray  itself 
even  by  its  superior  excellence  ?  All  the  village — all  tlic  parish — 
all  the  world — will  soon  discover  to  what  poverty  has  reduced 
Richard  Tinto." 

A  sudden  thought  here  struck  me — I  had  observed  that  our 
landlord  wore,  on  that  memorable  morning,  a  pair  of  bran  new 
velveteens,  instead  of  his  ancient  thicksets. 

"  What,"  said  I,  drawing  my  right  hand,  with  the  forefinger 
and  thumb  pressed  together,  nimbly  from  my  right  haunch  to  my 
left  shoulder,  "  you  have  condescended  to  resume  the  paternal 
arts  to  which  you  were  first  bred — long  stitches,  ha,  Dick  ?  " 

He  repelled  this  unlucky  conjecture  with  a  frown  and  a  pshaw, 
indicative  of  indignant  contempt,  and,  leading  me  into  another 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.    xvii 

room,  showed  me,  resting  against  the  wall,  the  majestic  head  of 
Sir  VVillam  Wallace,  given  as  when  severed  from  the  trunk  by  the 
orders  of  the  felon  Edward. 

The  painting  was  executed  on  boards  of  a  substantial  thickness, 
and  the  top  decorated  with  irons,  for  suspending  the  honored  effigy 
upon  a  sign-post. 

"There,"  he  said,  "  my  friend,  stands  the  honor  of  Scotland, 
and  my  shame — yet  not  so — rather  the  shame  of  those  who,  in- 
stead of  encouraging  art  in  its  proper  sphere,  reduce  it  to  these 
unbecoming  and  unworthy  extremities." 

I  endeavored  to  smooth  the  ruffled  feelings  of  my  misused  and 
indignant  friend.  I  reminded  him  that  he  ought  not,  like  the  stag 
in  the  fable,  to  despise  the  quality  which  had  extricated  him  from 
difficulties  in  which  his  talents  as  a  portrait  or  landscape  painter 
had  been  found  unavailing.  Above  all,  I  praised  the  execution, 
as  well  as  conception,  of  his  painting,  and  reminded  him  that,  far 
from  feeling  dishonored  by  so  superb  a  specimen  of  his  talents 
being  exposed  to  the  general  view  of  the  public,  he  ought  rather  to 
congratulate  himself  upon  the  augmentation  of  his  celebrity  to 
which  its  public  exhibition  must  necessarily  give  rise. 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend — you  are  right,"  replied  poor  Dick, 
his  eye  kindling  with  enthusiasm  ;  "  why  should  I  shun  the  name 
of  an — an" — (he  hesitated  for  a  phrase) — "  an  out-of-door  artist? 
Hogarth  has  introduced  himself  in  that  character  in  one  of  his 
best  engravings — Domenichino,  or  somebody  else,  in  ancient 
times— Morland  in  our  own,  have  exercised  their  talents  in  this 
manner.  And  wherefore  limit  to  the  rich  and  higher  classes 
alone  the  delight  v.hich  the  exhibition  of  works  of  art  is  calculated 
to  inspire  into  all  classes  ?  Statues  are  placed  in  the  open  air  ; 
why  should  Painting  be  more  niggardly  in  displaying  her  master- 
pieces than  her  sister.  Sculpture  ?  And  yet,  my  friend,  we  must 
part  suddenly  :  the  carpenter  is  coming  in  an  hour  to  put  up  the 
— the  emblem  ;  and  truly,  with  all  my  philosophy,  and  your  con- 
solatory encouragement  to  boot,  I  would  rather  wish  to  leave 
Gandercleugh  before  that  operation  commences." 

We  partook  of  our  genial  host's  parting  banquet,  and  I  escorted 
Dick  on  his  walk  to  Edinburgh.  We  parted  about  a  mile  from  the 
village,  just  as  we  heard  the  distant  cheer  of  the  boys  which  ac- 
companied the  mounting  of  the  new  symbol  of  the  Wallace  Head. 
Dick  Tinto  mended  his  pace  to  get  out  of  hearing — so  little  had 
either  early  practice  or  recent  philosophy  reconciled  him  to  the 
character  of  a  sign-painter. 

"  In  Edinburgh,  Dick's  talents  were  discovered  and  appreci- 
ated, and  he  received  dinners  and  hints  from  several  distin- 
guished judges  of  the  fine  arts.  But  these  gentlemen  dispensed 
(their  criticism  more  willingly  than  their  cash,  and  Dick  thought  he 
/needed  cash  more  than  criticism.  He  therefore  sought  London, 
f  the  universal  mart  of  talent,  and  where,  as  is  usual  in  general 
marts  of  most  descriptions,  much  more  of  each  community  is  ex- 
posed to  sale  than  can  ever  find  purchasers. 

Dick,  who,  in  seriops  earnest,  was  supposed  to  have  considi- 


xviii   INTRODUCTIOX  TO  THE  BRIDE  OE  LAMMERMOOR. 

crable  natural  talents  for  his  profession,  and  whose  vain  and  san- 
guine disposition  never  permitted  him  to  doubt  for  a  moment  of 
ultimate  success,  threw  himself  headlong  into  the  crowd  which 
jostled  and  struggled  for  notice  and  preferment.  He  elbowed 
others,  and  was  elbowed  himself ;  and  finally,  by  dint  of  intre- 
pidity, fought  his  way  into  some  notice,  painted  for  the  prize  at 
the  Institution,  had  pictures  at  the  exhibition  at  Somerset  House, 
and  damned  the  hanging  committee.  But  poor  Dick  was  doomed 
to  lose  the  field  he  fought  so  gallantly.  In  the  fine  arts,  there  is 
scarce  an  alternative  betwixt  distinguished  success  and  absolute 
failure  ;  and  as  Dick's  zeal  and  industry  were  unable  to  ensure  the 
first,  he  fell  into  the  distresses  which,  in  his  condition,  were  the 
natural  consequences  of  the  latter  alternative.  He  was  for  a  time 
patronized  by  one  or  two  of  those  judicious  persons  who  make  a 
virtue  of  being  singular,  and  of  pitching  their  own  opinions  against 
those  of  the  world  in  matters  of  taste  and  criticism.  But  they 
soon  tired  of  poor  Tinto,  and  laid  him  down  as  a  load,  upon  the 
principle  on  which  a  spoiled  child  throws  away  its  plaything.  Mis- 
ery, I  fear,  took  him  up,  and  accompanied  him  to  a  premature 
grave,  to  which  he  was  carried  from  an  obscure  lodging  in  Swallow 
Street,  where  he  had  been  dunned  by  his  landlady  within  doors, 
and  watched  by  bailiffs  without,  until  death  came  to  his  relief.  A 
corner  of  the  Morning  Post  noticed  his  death,  generously  adding 
that  his  manner  displayed  considerable  genius,  though  his  style 
was  rather  sketchy  ;  and  referred  to  an  advertisement  which  an- 
nounced that  Mr.  Varnish,  a  well-known  printsellcr,  had  still  on 
hand  a  very  few  drawings  and  paintings  by  Richard  Tinto,  Es- 
quire, which  those  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  who  wished  to  complete 
their  collections  of  modern  art  were  invited  to  visit  without  delay. 
So  ended  Dick  Tinto  !  a  lamentable  proof  of  the  great  truth,  that 
in  the  fine  arte  mediocrity  is  not  permitted,  and  that  he  who  can- 
not ascend  to  the  very  tojj  of  the  ladder  will  do  well  not  to  put  his 
foot  upon  it  at  all. 

The  memory  of  Tinto  is  dear  to  me,  from  the  recollections  of 
the  many  conversations  which  we  have  had  together,  most  of  them 
turning  upon  my  present  task.  He  was  delighted  with  my  prog- 
ress, and  talked  of  an  ornamented  and  illustrated  edition,  with 
heads,  vignettes,  and  ctils  de  lampe,  all  to  be  designed  by  his  own 
patriotic  and  friendly  pencil.  He  prevailed  upon  an  old  sergeant 
of  invalids  to  sit  to  him  in  the  character  of  Bothwell,  the  life- 
guards-man of  Charles  the  Second,  and  the  bellman  of  Gander- 
cleugh  in  that  of  David  Deans.  But  while  he  thus  proposed  to 
unite  his  own  powers  with  mine  for  the  illustration  of  these  nar- 
ratives, he  mixed  many  a  dose  of  salutary  criticism  with  the 
panegyrics  which  my  composition  was  at  times  so  fortunate  as  to 
call  forth. 

*'  Your  characters,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  Pattieson,  make  too 
much  use  of  the  gob  box  j  they  patter  too  much — (an  elegant 
phraseology,  which  Dick  had  learned  while  painting  the  scenes  of 
an  itinerant  company  of  players) — there  is  nothing  in  whole  pages 
but  mere  chat  and  dialogue." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     xix 

"The  ancient  philosopher,"  said  I  in  reply,  "  was  wont  to  say, 
'  Speak,  that  I  may  know  thee '  ;  and  how  is  it  possible  for  an  au- 
thor to  introduce  \\\?,  pcrsoncc  dramatis  to  his  readers  in  a  more  in- 
teresting and  effectual  manner  than  by  the  dialogue  in  which  each 
is  represented  as  supporting  his  own  appropriate  character  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  false  conclusion,"  said  Tinto  ;  "  I  hate  it,  Peter,  as  I 
hate  an  unfilled  can.  I  will  grant  you,  indeed,  that  speech  is  a 
faculty  of  some  value  in  the  intercourse  of  human  affairs,  and  I 
will  not  even  insist  on  the  doctrine  of  that  Pythagorean  toper  who 
was  of  opinion  that,  over  a  bottle,  speaking  spoiled  conversation. 
But  I  will  not  allow  that  a  professor  of  the  fine  arts  had  occasion 
to  embody  the  idea  of  his  scene  in  language,  in  order  to  impress 
upon  the  reader  its  reality  and  its  effect.  On  the  contrary,  I  will 
be  judged  by  most  of  your  readers,  Peter,  should  these  tales  ever 
become  public,  whether  you  have  not  given  us  a  page  of  talk  for 
every  single  idea  which  two  words  might  have  communicated, 
while  the  posture,  and  manner,  and  incident,  accurately  drawn 
and  brought  out  by  appropriate  coloring,  would  have  preserved 
all  that  was  worthy  of  preservation,  and  saved  these  everlasting 
said  he's  and  said  she's  with  which  it  has  been  your  pleasure  to 
encumber  your  pages." 

I  replied,  "That  he  confounded  the  operations  of  the  pencil 
and  the  pen  ;  that  the  serene  and  silent  art,  as  painting  has  been 
called  by  one  of  our  first  living  poets,  necessarily  appealed  to  the 
eye,  because  it  had  not  the  organs  for  addressing  the  ear  ;  whereas 
poetry,  or  that  species  of  composition  which  approached  to  it, 
lay  under  the  necessity  of  doing  absolutely  the  reverse,  and  ad- 
dressed itself  to  the  ear,  for  the  purpose  of  exciting  that  interest 
which  it  could  not  attain  through  the  medium  of  the  eye." 

Dick  was  not  a  whit  staggered  by  my  argument,  which  he  con- 
tended was  founded  on  misrepresentation.  "  Description,"  he 
said,  "  was  to  the  author  of  a  romance  exactly  what  drawing  and 
tinting  were  to  a  painter  ;  words  were  his  colors,  and,  if  properly 
employed,  they  could  not  fail  to  place  the  scene  which  he  wished 
to  conjure  up  as  effectually  before  the  mind's  eye  as  the  tablet  or 
canvas  presents  it  to  the  bodily  organ.  The  same  rules,"  he  con- 
tended, "  applied  to  both,  and  an  exuberance  of  dialogue,  in  the 
former  case,  was  a  verbose  and  laborious  mode  of  composition 
which  went  to  confound  the  proper  art  of  fictitious  narrative  with 
that  of  the  drama,  a  widely  different  species  of  composition,  of 
which  dialogue  was  the  very  essence,  because  all,  excepting  the 
language  to  be  made  use  of,  was  presented  to  the  eye  by  tlie 
dresses  and  persons  and  actions  of  the  performers  upon  the 
stage.  But  as  nothing,"  said  Dick,  "  can  be  more  dull  than  a 
long  narrative  written  upon  the  plan  of  a  drama,  so  where  you 
have  approached  most  near  to  that  species  of  composition,  by  in- 
dulging in  prolonged  scenes  of  mere  conversation,  the  course  of 
your  story  has  become  chill  and  constrained,  and  you  have 
lost  the  power  of  arresting  the  attention  and  exciting  the  imagina- 
tion, in  which  upon  other  occasions  you  may  be  considered  as  hav- 
ing succeeded  tolerably  well." 


XX    INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

I  made  my  bow  in  requital  of  the  compliment,  which  was  prob' 
ably  thrown  in  by  way  oi placebo,  and  expressed  myself  willing  at 
least  to  make  one  trial  of  a  more  straightforward  style  of  composi- 
tion, in  which  my  actors  should  do  more  and  say  less  than  in  my 
former  attempts  of  this  kind.  Dick  gave  me  a  patronizing  and  ap- 
proving nod,  and  observed  that,  finding  me  so  docile,  he  would 
communicate,  for  the  benefit  of  my  muse,  a  subject  which  he  had 
studied  with  a  view  to  his  own  art. 

"  The  story,"  he  said,  "  was  by  tradition  affirmed  to  be  truth, 
although,  as  upward  of  a  hundred  years  had  passed  away  since  the 
events  took  place,  some  doubt  upon  the  accuracy  of  all  the  partic- 
ulars might  be  reasonably  entertained." 

When  Dick  Tinto  had  thus  spoken,  he  rummaged  his  portfolio 
for  the  sketch  from  which  he  proposed  one  day  to  execute  a  pict- 
ure of  fourteen  feet  by  eight.  The  sketch,  which  was  cleverly 
executed,  to  use  the  appropriate  phrase,  represented  an  ancient 
hall,  fitted  up  and  furnished  in  what  we  now  call  the  taste  of 
Queen  Elizabeth's  age.  The  light,  admitted  from  the  upper  part 
of  the  high  casement,  fell  upon  a  female  figure  of  exquisite  beauty, 
who,  in  an  attitude  of  speechless  terror,  appeared  to  watch  the 
issue  of  a  debate  betwixt  two  other  persons.  The  one  was  a  young 
man,  in  the  Vandyke  dress  common  to  the  time  of  Charles  1., 
who,  with  an  air  of  indignant  pride,  testified  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  raised  his  head  and  extended  his  arm,  seemed  to  be  urg- 
ing a  claim  of  right,  rather  than  of  favor,  to  a  lady  whose  age, 
and  some  resemblance  in  their  features,  pointed  her  out  as  the 
mother  of  the  younger  female,  and  who  appeared  to  listen  with  a 
mixture  of  displeasure  and  impatience. 

Tinto  produced  his  sketch  with  an  air  of  mysterious  triumph, 
and  gazed  on  it  as  a  fond  parent  looks  upon  a  hopeful  child,  while 
he  anticipates  the  future  figure  he  is  to  make  in  the  world,  and  the 
height  to  which  he  will  raise  the  honor  of  his  family.  He  held  it 
at  arm's  length  from  me — he  held  it  closer — he  placed  it  upon  the 
top  of  a  chest  of  drawers  ;  closed  the  lower  shutters  of  the  case- 
ment, to  adjust  a  downward  and  favorable  light  ;  fell  back  to  the 
due  distance  ;  dragged  me  after  him  ;  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand, 
as  if  to  exclude  all  but  the  favorable  object,  and  ended  by  spoiling 
a  child's  copy-book,  which  he  rolled  up  so  as  to  serve  for  the 
darkened  tube  of  an  amateur.  I  fancy  my  expressions  of  enthu- 
siasm had  not  been  in  proportion  to  his  own,  for  he  presently 
exclaimed,  with  vehemence,  "  Mr.  Pattieson,  I  used  to  think  you 
had  an  eye  in  your  head." 

I  vindicated  my  claim  to  the  usual  allowance  of  visual  organs. 

"  Yet,  on  my  honor,"  said  Dick,  "  I  would  swear  you  had  been 
born  blind,  since  you  have  failed  at  the  first  glance  to  discover 
the  subject  and  meaning  of  that  sketch.  I  do  not  mean  to  praise 
my  own  performance,  I  leave  these  arts  to  others  ;  I  am  sensible 
of  my  deficiencies,  conscious  that  my  drawing  and  coloring  may 
be  improved  by  the  time  I  intend  to  dedicate  to  the  art.  But  the 
conception — the  expression — the  positions — these  tell  the  story  to 
every  one  who  looks  at  the  sketch  ;  and  if  I  can  finish  the  picture 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.     xxl 

without  diminution  of  the  original  conception,  the  name  of  Tinto 
shall  no  more  be  smothered  by  the  mists  of  envy  and  intrigue." 

I  replied,  "That  I  admired  the  sketch  exceedingly  ;  but  that, 
to  understand  its  full  merit,  I  felt  it  absolutely  necessary  to  be 
informed  of  the  subject." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  I  complain  of,"  answered  Tinto  ;  "  you 
have  accustomed  yourself  so  much  to  these  creeping  twilight  de- 
tails of  yours,  that  you  are  become  incapable  of  receiving  that 
instant  and  vivid  Hash  of  conviction  which  darts  on  the  mind  from 
seeing  the  happy  and  expressive  combinations  of  a  single  scene, 
and  which  gather  from  the  position,  attitude,  and  countenance  of 
the  moment  not  only  the  history  of  the  past  lives  of  the  person- 
ages represented,  and  the  nature  of  the  business  on  which  they 
are  immediately  engaged,  but  lifts  even  the  veil  of  futurity,  and 
affords  a  shrewd  guess  at  their  future  fortunes." 

"  In  that  case,"  replied  I,  "  painting  excels  the  Ape  of  the  re- 
nowned Gines  de  Passamont,  which  only  meddled  with  the  past 
and  the  present ;  nay,  she  excels  that  very  Nature  who  affords  her 
subjects  ;  for  I  protest  to  you,  Dick,  that  were  I  permitted  to 
peep  into  that  Elizabeth  chamber,  and  see  the  persons  you  have 
sketched  conversing  in  flesh  and  blood,  I  should  not  be  a  jot 
nearer  guessing  the  nature  of  their  business  than  I  am  at  this  mo- 
ment while  looking  at  your  sketch.  Only  generally,  from  the 
languishing  look  of  the  young  lady,  and  the  care  you  have  taken 
to  present  a  very  handsome  leg  on  the  part  of  the  gentleman,  I 
presume  there  is  some  reference  to  a  love  affair  between  them." 

"  Do  you  really  presume  to  form  such  a  bold  conjecture  ?  " 
said  Tinto.  "  And  the  indignant  earnestness  with  which  you  see 
the  man  urge  his  suit — the  unresisting  and  passive  despair  of  the 
younger  female — the  stern  air  of  inflexible  determination  in  the 
elder  woman,  whose  looks  express  at  once  consciousness  that  she 
is  acting  wrong,  and  a  firm  determination  to  persist  in  the  course 
she  has  adopted " 

"  If  her  looks  express  all  this,  my  dear  Tinto,"  replied  I,  inter- 
rupting him,  "your  pencil  rivals  the  dramatic  art  of  Mr.  Puff  in 
the  Critic,  who  crammed  a  whole  complicated  sentence  into  the 
expressive  shake  of  Lord  Burleigh's  head." 

"  My  good  friend,  Peter,"  replied  Tinto,  "  I  observe  you  are 
perfectly  incorrigible  ;  however,  I  have  compassion  on  your  dul- 
ness,  and  am  unwilling  you  should  be  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of 
understanding  my  picture,  and  of  gaining,  at  the  same  time,  a 
subject  for  your  own  pen.  You  must  know  then,  last  summer, 
while  I  was  taking  sketches  on  the  coast  of  East- Lothian  and  Ber- 
wickshire, I  was  seduced  into  the  mountains  of  Lammermoor  by 
the  account  I  received  of  some  remains  of  antiquity  in  that  dis- 
trict. Those  with  which  I  was  most  struck  were  the  ruins  of  an 
ancient  castle  in  which  that  Elizabeth  chamber,  as  you  call  it, 
once  existed.  I  resided  for  two  or  three  days  at  a  farm-house  in 
the  neighborhood,  where  the  aged  goodwife  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  history  of  the  castle,  and  the  events  which  had  taken 
place  in  it.     One  of  these  was  of  a  nature  so  interesting  and  sin- 


xxii   INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  BRIDE  OE  LAMMERMOOR. 

gular,  that  my  attention  was  divided  between  my  wish  to  draw  the 
old  ruins  in  landscape  and  to  represent,  in  a  history-piece,  the 
singular  events  which  have  taken  place  in  it.  Here  are  my  notes 
of  the  tale,"  said  poor  Dick,  handing  a  parcel  of  loose  scraps, 
partly  scratched  over  with  his  pencil,  partly  with  his  pen,  where 
outlines  of  caricatures,  sketches  of  turrets,  mills,  old  gables,  and 
dovecots  disputed  the  ground  with  his  written  memoranda. 

I  proceeded,  however,  to  decipher  the  substance  of  the  manu- 
script as  well  as  I  could,  and  wove  it  into  the  following  Tale,  in 
which,  following  in  part,  though  not  entirely,  my  friend  Tinto's  ad- 
vice, I  endeavored  to  render  my  narrative  rather  descriptive  than 
dramatic.  My  favorite  propensity,  however,  has  at  times  over- 
come me,  and  my  persons,  like  many  others  in  this  talking  world, 
speak  now  and  then  a  great  deal  more  than  they  act. 


T90i\AVCRStll0dD-§nALDi  ' 

CQRiDeTi-T?a«j3c-nis 


SR^LL-BC;Li0S5'F0I\ 

eve  R.©  6  cY€)^sKx. 


CHAPTER  FIRST. 

Well,  lords,  we  have  not  got  that  which  we  have ; 
'Tis  not  enough  our  foes  are  this  time  fled, 
Being  opposites  of  such  repairing  nature. 

Second  Part  of  Henry 


VI. 


In  the  gorge  of  a  pass  or  mountain  glen,  ascending  from  the 
fertile  plains  of  EastLothian,  there  stood  in  former  times  an 
extensive  castle,  of  which  only  the  ruins  are  now  visible.  Its 
ancient  proprietors  were  a  race  of  powerful  and  warlike  barons, 
who  bore  the  same  name  with  the  castle  itself,  which  was 
Ravenswood.  Their  line  extended  to  a  remote  period  of  anti- 
quity, and  they  had  intermarried  with  the  Douglases,  Humes, 
Swiutons,  Hays,  and  other  families  of  power  and  distinction  in 
the  same  countr)^  Their  history  was  frequently  involved  in 
that  of  Scotland  itself,  in  whose  annals  their  feats  are  recorded. 
The  castle  of  Ravenswood,  occupying,  and  in  some  measure 
commanding,  a  pass  betwixt  Berwickshire,  or  the  Merse,  as  the 
south-eastern  province  of  Scotland  is  termed,  and  the  Lothians, 
was  of  importance  both  in  time  of  foreign  war  and  domestic 
discord.  It  was  frequently  besieged  with  ardor,  and  defended 
with  obstinacy,  and,  of  course,  its  owners  played  a  conspicuous 
part  in  story.  But  their  house  had  its  revolutions,  like  all 
sublunary  things  ;  it  became  greatly  declined  from  its  splendor 
about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  and  toward  the 
period  of  the  Revolution,  the  last  proprietor  of  Ravenswood 
Castle  saw  himself  compelled  to  part  with  the  ancient  family 
seat,  and  to  remove  himself  to  a  lonely  and  sea-beaten  tower, 


J  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOK. 

which,  situated  on  the  bleak  shores  between  Saint  Abb's  Head 
and  the  village  of  Eyemouth,  looked  out  on  the  lonely  and 
boisterous  German  Ocean.  A  black  domain  of  wild  pasture- 
land  surrounded  their  new  residence,  and  formed  the  remains 
of  their  property. 

Lord  Ravenswood,  the  heir  of  this  ruined  family,  was  far 
from  bending  his  mind  to  his  new  condition  of  life.  In  the 
civil  war  of  i68g,  he  had  espoused  the  sinking  side,  and  although 
he  had  escaped  without  the  forfeiture  of  life  or  land,  his  blood 
had  been  attainted,  and  his  title  abolished.  He  was  now  called 
Lord  Ravenswood  only  in  courtesy. 

This  forfeited  nobleman  inherited  the  pride  and  turbulence, 
though  not  the  fortune  of  his  house,  and,  as  he  imputed  the 
final  declension  of  his  family  to  a  particular  individual,  he 
honored  that  person  with  his  full  portion  of  hatred.  This  was 
the  very  man  who  had  now  become,  by  purchase,  proprietor  of 
Ravenswood,  and  the  domains  of  which  the  heir  of  the  house 
now  stood  dispossessed.  He  was  descended  of  a  family  much 
less  ancient  than  that  of  Lord  Ravenswood,  and  which  had  only 
risen  to  wealth  and  political  importance  during  the  great  civil 
wars.  He  himself  had  been  bred  to  the  bar,  and  had  held  high 
offices  in  the  state,  maintaining  through  life  the  character  of  a 
skilful  fisher  in  the  troubled  waters  of  a  state  divided  by  fac- 
tions, and  governed  by  delegated  authority  ;  and  of  one  who 
contrived  to  amass  considerable  sums  of  money  in  a  country 
wbere  there  was  but  little  to  be  gathered,  and  who  equally 
knew  the  value  of  wealth,  and  the  various  means  of  augment- 
ing it,  and  using  it  as  an  engine  of  increasing  his  power  and 
influence. 

Thus  qualified  and  gifted,  he  was  a  dangerous  antagonist  to 
the  fierce  and  imprudent  Ravenswood.  Whether  he  had  given 
him  good  cause  for  the  enmity  with  which  the  Baron  regarded 
him,  was  a  point  on  which  men  spoke  differently.  Some  said 
the  quarrel  arose  merely  from  the  vindictive  spirit  and  envy  of 
Lord  Ravenswood,  who  could  not  patiently  behold  another, 
though  by  just  and  fair  purchase,  become  the  proprietor  of  the 
estate  and  castle  of  his  forefathers.  But  the  greater  part  of  the 
public,  prone  to  slander  the  wealthy  in  their  absence,  as  to 
flatter  them  in  their  presence,  held  a  less  charitable  opinion. 
They  said,  that  the  Lord  Keeper  (for  to  this  height  Sir  William 
Ashton  had  ascended)  had,  previous  to  the  final  purchase  of 
the  estate  of  Ravenswood,  been  concerned  in  extensive  pecu- 
niary transactions  with  the  former  proprietor ;  and,  rather  inti- 
mating what  was  probable,  than  affirming  anything  positively, 
they  asked  whicii  party  was  likely  to  have  the  advantage  in 


THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  3 

Stating  and  enforcing  the  claims  arising  out  of  these  compli- 
cated affairs,  and  more  than  hinted  the  advantages  which  the 
cool  lawyer  and  able  politician  must  necessarily  possess  over 
the  hot,  fiery,  and  imprudent  character,  whom  he  had  involved 
in  legal  toils  and  pecuniary  snares. 

The  character  of  the  times  aggravated  these  suspicions,  y^  ,i 
"  In  those  days  there  was  no  king  in  Israel."  Since  the  Aq.-\^^'' 
parture  of  James  VI.  to  assume  the  richer  and  more  powerful 
crown  of  England,  there  had  existed  in  Scotland  contending 
parties,  formed  among  the  aristocracy,  by  whom,  as  their  in- 
trigues at  the  court  of  Saint  James's  chanced  to  prevail,  the 
delegated  powers  of  sovereignty  were  alternately  swayed. 
The  evils  attending  upon  this  system  of  government  resembled 
those  which  afflict  the  tenants  of  an  Irish  estate,  the  property 
of  an  absentee.  There  was  no  supreme  power,  claiming  and 
possessing  a  general  interest  with  the  community  at  large,  to 
whom  the  oppressed  might  appeal  from  subordinate  tyranny, 
either  for  justice  or  for  mercy.  Let  a  monarch  be  as  indolent, 
as  selfish,  as  much  disposed  to  arbitrary  power  as  he  will,  still, 
in  a  free  country,  his  own  interests  are  so  clearly  connected 
with  those  of  the  public  at  large,  and  the  evil  consequences  to 
his  own  authority  are  so  obvious  and  imminent  when  a  different 
course  is  pursued,  that  common  policy,  as  well  as  common 
feeling,  point  to  the  equal  distribution  of  justice,  and  to  the 
establishment  of  the  throne  in  righteousness.  Thus,  even 
sovereigns,  remarkable  for  usurpation  and  tyranny,  have  been 
found  rigorous  in  the  administration  of  justice  among  their 
subjects,  in  cases  where  their  own  power  and  passions  were 
not  compromised. 

It  is  very  different  when  the  powers  of  sovereignty  are  del- 
egated to  the  head  of  an  aristocratic  faction,  rivaled  and 
pressed  closely  in  the  race  of  ambition  by  an  adverse  leader. 
His  brief  and  precarious  enjoyment  of  power  must  be  employed 
in  rewarding  his  partisans,  in  extending  his  influence,  in  op- 
pressing and  crushing  his  adversaries.  Even  Abon  Hassan, 
the  most  disinterested  of  all  viceroys,  forgot  not  during  his 
caliphate  of  one  day,  to  send  a  douceur  of  one  thousand  pieces 
of  gold  to  his  own  household  ;  and  the  Scottish  viceregents, 
raised  to  power  by  the  strength  of  their  faction,  fa.iled  not  to 
embrace  the  same  means  of  rewarding  them. 

The  administration  of  justice,  in  particular,  was  infected  by 
the  most  gross  partiality.     A  case   of  importance   scarcely  oc- 
curred, in  which  there  was  not  some  ground  for  bias  or  par- 
tiality on   the  part  of  the  judges,  who  were   so   little  able   to  . 
withstand  the  temptation,  that  the  adage,  "  Show  me  the  man,  I     Ct^( 


^  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

and  I  will  show  you  the  law,"  became  as  prevalent  as  it  wag 
scandalous.  One  corruption  led  the  way  to  others  still  more 
gross  and  profligate.  The  judge  who  lent  his  sacred  authority 
in  one  case  to  support  a  friend,  and  in  another  to  crush  an 
enemy,  and  whose  decisions  were  founded  on  family  connections 
or  political  relations,  could  not  be  supposed  inaccessible  to 
direct  personal  motives  ;  and  the  purse  of  the  wealthy  was  too 
often  believed  to  be  thrown  into  the  scale  to  weigh  down  the 
cause  of  the  poor  litigant.  The  subordinate  officers  of  the  law 
affected  little  scruple  concerning  bribery.  Pieces  of  plate,  and 
bags  of  money,  were  sent  in  presents  to  the  king's  counsel,  to 
influence  their  conduct,  and  poured  forth,  says  a  contempo- 
rary writer,  like  billets  of  wood  upon  their  floors,  without  even 
the  decency  of  concealment. 

In  such  times,  it  was  not  over  uncharitable  to  suppose,  that 
the  statesman,  practised  in  courts  of  law,  and  a  powerful  mem- 
ber of  a  triumphant  cabal,  might  find  and  use  means  of  advan- 
tage over  his  less  skilful  and  less  favored  adversary ;  and  if  it 
had  been  supposed  that  Sir  William  Ashton's  conscience  had 
been  too  delicate  to  profit  by  these  advantages,  it  was  believed 
that  his  ambition  and  desire  of  extending  his  wealth  and  con- 
sequence, found  as  strong  a  stimulus  in  the  exhortations  of  his 
lady,  as  the  daring  aim  of  Macbeth  in  the  days  of  yore. 

Lady  Ashton  was  of  a  family  more  distinguished  than  that 
of  her  lord,  an  advantage  which  she  did  not  fail  to  use  to  the 
uttermost,  in  maintaining  and  extending  her  husband's  influ- 
ence over  otliers,  and,  unless  she  was  greatly  belied,  her  own 
over  him.  She  had  been  beautiful,  and  was  stately  and  majes- 
tic in  her  appearance.  P^ndowed  by  nature  with  strong  powers 
and  violent  passions,  experience  had  taught  her  to  employ  the 
one,  and  to  conceal,  if  not  to  moderate,  the  other.  She  was  a 
severe  and  strict  observer  of  the  external  forms,,  at  least,  of 
devotion  ;  her  hospitality  was  splendid  even  to  ostentation  ;  her 
address  and  manners,  agreeable  to  the  pattern  most  valued  in 
Scotland  at  the  period,  were  grave,  dignified,  and  severely  regu- 
lated by  the  rules  of  etiquette.  Her  character  had  always  been 
beyond  the  breath  of  slander.  And  yet,  with  all  these  qualities 
to  excite  respect,  Lady  Ashton  was  seldom  mentioned  in  the 
terms  of  love  or  affection.  Interest, — the  interest  of  her  family, 
if  not  her  own, — seemed  too  obviously  the  motive  of  her  ac 
tions  ;  and  where  this  is  the  case,  the  sharp-judging  and  malig- 
nant public  are  not  easily  imposed  upon  by  outward  show.  It 
was  seen  and  ascertained,  that,  in  her  most  graceful  courtesies 
and  compliments.  Lady  Ashton  no  more  lost  sight  of  her  object, 
than  the  falcon  in  his  airy  wheel  turns  his  quick  eyes  from  his 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ^ 

destined  quarry  ;  and  hence,  something  of  doubt  and  suspicion 
qualified  the  feelings  with  which  her  equals  received  her  atten- 
tions. With  her  inferiors  these  feelings  were  mingled  with  fear ; 
an  impression  useful  to  her  purposes,  so  far  as  it  enforced  ready 
compliance  with  her  requests,  and  implicit  obedience  to  her 
commands,  but  detrimental,  because  it  cannot  exist  with  affec' 
tion  or  regard. 

Even  her  husband,  it  is  said,  upon  whose  fortunes  her  tal- 
ents and  address  had  produced  such  emphatic  influence, 
regarded  her  with  respectful  awe  rather  than  confiding  attach- 
ment ;  and  report  said,  there  were  times  when  he  considered 
his  grandeur  as  dearly  purchased  at  the  expense  of  domestic 
thraldom.  Of  this,  however  much  might  be  suspected,  but 
little  could  be  accurately  known  ;  Lady  Ashton  regarded  the 
honor  of  her  husband  as  her  own,  and  was  well  aware  how 
much  that  would  suffer  in  the  public  eye  should  he  appear  a 
vassal  to  his  wife.  In  all  her  arguments,  his  opinion  was 
quoted  as  infallible  ;  his  taste  was  appealed  to,  and  his  senti- 
ments received,  with  the  air  of  deference  which  a  dutiful  wife 
might  seem  to  owe  to  a  husband  of  Sir  William  Ashton's  rank 
and  character.  But  there  was  something  under  all  this  which 
rung  false  and  hollow ;  and  to  those  who  watched  this  couple 
with  close,  and  perhaps  malicious  scrutiny,  it  seemed  evident, 
that,  in  the  haughtiness  of  a  firmer  character,  higher  birth,  and 
more  decided  views  of  aggrandizement,  the  lady  looked  with 
some  contempt  on  the  husband,  and  that  he  regarded  her  with 
jealous  fear,  rather  than  with  love  or  admiration. 

Still,  however,  the  leading  and  favorite  interests  of  Sir 
William  Ashton  and  his  lady  were  the  same,  and  they  failed 
not  to  work  in  concert,  although  without  cordiality,  and  to 
testify,  in  all  exterior  circumstances,  that  respect  for  each 
other,  which  they  were  aware  was  necessary  to  secure  that  of 
the  public. 

Their  union  was  crowned  with  several  children,  of  whom 
three  survived.  One,  the  eldest  son,  was  absent  on  his  travels ; 
the  second,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  and  the  third,  a  boy  about 
three  years  younger,  resided  with  their  parents  in  Edinburgh, 
during  the  sessions  of  the  Scottish  Parliament  and  Privy 
Council,  at  other  times  in  the  old  Gothic  castle  of  Ravens 
wood,  to  which  the  Lord  Keeper  had  made  large  additions  in 
the  style  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

Allan  Lord  Ravenswood,  the  late  proprietor  of  that 
ancient  mansion  and  the  large  estate  annexed  to  it,  con- 
tinued for  some  time  to  wage  ineffectual  war  with  his  suc- 
cessor   concerning    various     points    to    which    their    former 


6  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

transactions  had  given  rise,  and  which  were  successivel]f 
determined  in  favor  of  the  weahhy  and  powerful  com- 
petitor, until  death  closed  the  litigation,  by  summoning 
Ravenswood  to  a  higher  bar.  The  thread  of  life,  which 
had  been  long  wasting,  gave  way  during  a  fit  of  violent  and 
impotent  fury,  with  which  he  was  assailed  on  receiving  the 
news  of  the  loss  of  a  cause,  founded,  perhaps,  rather  in  equity 
than  in  law,  the  last  which  he  had  maintained  against  his 
powerful  antagonist.  His  son  witnessed  his  dying  agonies, 
and  heard  the  curses  which  he  breathed  against  his  adversary, 
as  if  they  had  conveyed  to  hirn  a  legacy  of  vengeance.  Other 
circumstances  happened  to  exasperate  a  passion,  which  was, 
and  had  long  been,  a  prevalent  vice  in  the  Scottish  disposition. 

It  was  a  November  morning,  and  the  cliffs  which  overlooked 
the  ocean  were  hung  with  thick  and  heavy  mist,  when  the 
portals  of  the  ancient  and  half-ruinous  tower,  in  which  Lord 
Ravenswood  had  spent  the  last  and  troubled  years  of  his  life, 
opened,  that  his  mortal  remains  might  pass  forward  to  an  abode 
yet  more  dreary  and  lonely.  The  pomp  of  attendance,  to 
which  the  deceased  had,  in  his  latter  years,  been  a  stranger, 
was  revived  as  he  was  about  to  be  consigned  to  the  realms  of 
forgetfulness. 

Banner  after  banner,  with  the  various  devices  and  coats  at 
this  ancient  family  and  its  connections,  followed  each  other  in 
mournful  procession  from  under  the  low-browed  archway  of  the 
courtyard.  The  principal  gentry  of  the  country  attended  in 
the  deepest  mourning,  and  tempered  the  pace  of  their  long 
train  of  horses  to  the  solemn  march  befitting  the  occasion. 
Trumpets,  with  banners  of  crape  attached  to  them,  sent  forth 
their  long  and  melancholy  notes  to  regulate  the  movements  of 
the  procession.  An  immense  train  of  inferior  mourners  and 
inenials  closed  the  rear,  which  had  not  yet  issued  from  the 
castle-gate,  when  the  van  had  reached  the  chapel  where  the 
body  was  to  be  deposited. 

Contrary  to  the  custom,  and  even  to  the  law  of  the  time,  the 
body  was  met  by  a  priest  of  the  Scottish  Episcopal  communion, 
arrayed  in  his  surplice,  and  prepared  to  read  over  the  coffin  ot 
the  deceased  the  funeral  service  of  the  church.  Such  had  been 
the  desire  of  Lord  Ravenswood  in  his  last  illness,  and  it  was 
readily  complied  with  by  the  Tory  gentlemen,  or  cavaliers,  as 
they  affected  to  style  themselves,  in  which  faction  most  of  his 
kinsmen  were  enrolled.  The  Presbyterian  church-judicatory 
of  the  bounds,  considering  the  ceremony  as  a  bravading  insult 
upon  their  authority,  had  applied  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  as  the  , 
nearest   privy   councillor,  for  a  warrant  to   prevent  its  being 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ^^-  -j 

carried  into  effect;  so  that,  when  the  clergyman  had  opened 
his  prayer-book,  an  officer  of  the  law,  supported  by  some  armed 
men,  commanded  him  to  be  silent.  An  insult,  which  fired  the 
whole  assembly  with  indignation,  was  particularly  and  instantly 
resented  by  the  only  son  of  the  deceased,  Edgar,  popularly 
called  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  a  youth  of  about  twenty  years 
of  age.  He  clapped  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  bidding  the 
official  person  to  desist  at  his  peril  from  further  interruption, 
commanded  the  clergyman  to  proceed.  The  man  attempted  to 
enforce  his  commission,  but  as  a  hundred  swords  at  once 
glittered  in  the  air,  he  contented  himself  with  protesting  against 
the  violence  which  had  been  offered  to  him  in  the  execution  of 
his  duty,  and  stood  aloof,  a  sullen  and  moody  spectator  of  the 
ceremonial,  muttering  as  one  who  should  say,  "  You'll  rue  the 
day  that  clogs  me  with  this  answer." 

The  scene  was  worthy  of  an  artist's  pencil.  Under  the  very 
arch  of  the  house  of  death,  the  clergyman,  affrighted  at  the 
scene,  and  trembling  for  his  own  safety,  hastily  and  unwillingly 
rehearsed  the  solemn  service  of  the  church,  and  spoke  dust  to 
dust,  and  ashes  to  ashes,  over  ruined  pride  and  decayed  pros- 
perity. Around  stood  the  relations  of  the  deceased,  their  coun- 
tenances more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow,  and  the  drawn  swords 
which  they  brandished  forming  a  violent  contrast  with  their 
deep  mourning  habits.  In  the  countenance  of  the  young  man 
alone,  resentment  seemed  for  the  moment  overpowered  by  the 
deep  agony  with  which  he  beheld  his  nearest  and  almost  his 
only  friend,  consigned  to  the  tomb  of  his  ancestry.  A  relative 
observed  him  turn  deadly  pale,  when,  all  rites  being  now  duly 
observed,  it  became  the  duty  of  the  chief  mourner  to  lower 
down  into  the  charnel  vault,  where  mouldering  coffins  showed 
their  tattered  velvet  and  decayed  plating,  the  head  of  the  corpse 
which  was  to  be  their  partner  in  corruption.  He  stepped  to  the 
youth  and  offered  his  assistance,  which,  by  a  mute  motion, 
Edgar  Ravenswood  rejected.  Firmly  and  without  a  tear,  he 
performed  that  last  duty.  The  stone  was  laid  on  the  sepulchre, 
the  door  of  the  aisle  was  locked,  and  the  youth  took  possession 
of  its  massive  key. 

As  the  crowd  left  the  chapel,  he  paused  on  the  steps  which 
led  to  its  Gothic  chancel,  "  Gentlemen  and  friends,"  he  said. 
"  you  have  this  day  done  no  common  duty  to  the  body  of  your 
deceased  kinsman.  The  rites  of  due  observance,  which,  in 
other  countries,  are  allowed  as  the  due  of  the  meanest  Christian, 
would  this  day  have  been  denied  to  the  body  of  your  relp'cive— 
not  certainly  sprung  of  the  meanest  house  fn  Scotland — had  ii 
not  been  assured  to  him  by  your  courage.     Others  bury  their 


8  THE  B  KID  It    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

dead  in  sorrow  and  tears,  in  silence  and  in  reverence ;  our 
funeral  rites  are  marred  by  the  intrusion  of  bailiffs  and  ruffians, 
and  our  grief — the  grief  due  to  our  departed  friend — is  chased 
from  our  cheeks  by  the  glow  of  just  indignation.  But  it  is  well 
that  I  know  from  what  quiver  this  arrow  has  come  forth.  It 
was  only  he  that  dug  the  grave  who  could  have  the  mean 
cruelty  to  disturb  the  obsequies ;  and  Heaven  do  as  much  to 
me  and  more,  if  I  requite  not  to  this  man  and  his  house  the 
ruin  and  disgrace  he  has  brought  on  me  and  mine  !  " 

A  numerous  part  of  the  assembly  applauded  this  speech,  as 
the  spirited  expression  of  just  resentment ;  but  the  more  cool 
and  judicious  regretted  that  it  had  been  uttered.  The  fortunes 
of  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  were  too  low  to  brave  the  further 
hostility  which  they  imagined  these  open  expressions  of  resent- 
ment must  necessarily  provoke.  Their  apprehensions,  how- 
ever,  proved  groundless,  at  least  in  the  immediate  consequences 
of  this  affair. 

The  mourners  returned  to  the  tower,  there,  according  to  a 
custom  but  recently  abolished  in  Scotland,  to  carouse  deep 
healths  to  the  memory  of  the  deceased,  to  make  the  house  of 
sorrow  ring  with  sounds  of  joviality  and  debauch,  and  to  dimin- 
ish, by  the  expense  of  a  large  and  profuse  entertainment,  the 
limited  revenues  of  the  heir  of  him  whose  funeral  they  thus 
strangely  honored.  It  was  the  custom,  however,  and  on  the 
present  occasion  it  was  fully  observed.  The  tables  swam  in 
wine,  the  populace  feasted  in  the  courtyard,  the  yeomen  in  the 
kitchen  and  buttery ;  and  two  years'  rent  of  Ravenswood's 
remaining  property  hardly  defrayed  the  charge  of  the  funeral 
revel.  The  wine  did  its  office  on  all  but  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood — a  title  which  he  still  retained,  though  forfeiture  had 
attached  to  that  of  his  father.  He,  while  passing  around  the 
cup  which  he  himself  did  not  taste,  soon  listened  to  a  thousand 
exclamations  against  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  passionate  protesta- 
tions of  attachment  to  himself,  and  to  the  honor  of  his  house. 
He  listened  with  dark  and  sullen  brow  to  ebullitions  which  he 
considered  justly  as  equally  evanescent  with  the  crimson  bubbles 
on  the  brink  of  the  goblet,  or  at  least  with  the  vapors  which 
its  contents  excited  in  the  brains  of  the  revelers  around  him. 

When  the  last  flask  was  emptied,  they  took  their  leave,  with 
deep  protestations — to  be  forgotten  on  the  morrow,  if,  indeed, 
those  who  made  them  should  not  think  it  necessary  for  their 
safety  to  make  a  more  solemn  retractation. 

Accepting  their  adieus  with  an  air  of  contempt  which  he 
could  scarce  conceal,  Ravenswood  at  length  beheld  his  ruinous 
habitation  cleared  of  his  confluence  of  riotous  guests,  and  re- 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  g 

turned  to  the  deserted  hall,  which  now  appeared  doubly  lonely 
from  the  cessation  of  that  clamor  to  which  it  had  so  lately 
echoed.  But  its  space  was  peopled  by  phantoms,  which  the 
imagination  of  the  young  heir  conjured  up  before  him — the  tar 
nished  honor  and  degraded  fortunes  of  his  house,  tlie  destruc- 
tion of  his  own  hopes,  and  the  triumph  of  that  family  by  whom 
they  had  been  ruined.  To  a  mind  naturally  of  a  gloomy  cast, 
here  was  ample  room  for  meditation,  and  the  musings  of  young 
Ravenswood  were  deep  and  unwitnessed. 

The  peasant,  who  shows  the  ruins  of  the  tower,  which  still 
crown  the  beetling  cliff  and  behold  the  war  of  the  waves,  though 
no  more  tenanted  save  by  the  sea-mew  and  cormorant,  even  yet 
affirms,  that  on  this  fatal  night  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  by 
the  bitter  exclamations  of  his  despair,  evoked  some  evil  fiend, 
under  whose  malignant  influence  the  future  tissue  of  incidents 
was  woven.  Alas  !  what  fiend  can  suggest  more  desperate 
counsels  than  those  adopted  under  the  guidance  of  our  own 
violent  and  unresisted  passions  ? 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 

Over  Gods  forbode,  then  said  the  King, 
That  thou  shouldst  shoot  at  me. 

William  Bell,  Clim  o'  the  Cleugh,  etc. 

On  the  morning  after  the  funeral,  the  legal  officer,  whose  au- 
thority had  been  found  insufficient  to  effect  an  interruption  of 
the  funeral  solemnities  of  the  late  Lord  Ravenswood,  hastened 
to  state  before  the  Keeper  the  resistance  which  he  had  met  with 
in  the  execution  of  his  office. 

The  statesman  was  seated  in  a  spacious  library,  once  a 
banqueting-room  in  the  old  Castle  of  Ravenswood,  as  was  evi- 
dent from  the  armorial  insignia  still  displayed  on  the  carved 
roof,  which  was  vaulted  with  Spanish  chestnut,  and  on  the 
stained  glass  of  the  casement,  through  which  gleamed  a  dim  yet 
rich  light,  on  the  long  rows  of  shelves,  bending  under  the  weight 
of  legal  commentators  and  monkish  historians,  whose  ponderous 
volumes  formed  the  chief  and  most  valued  contents  of  a  Scot- 
tish historian  of  the  period.  On  the  massive  oaken  table  and 
reading-desk  lay  a  confused  mass  of  letters,  petitions,  and 
parchments  ;  to  toil  amongst  which  was  the  pleasure  at  once 
and  the  plague  of  Sir  William  Ashton's  life.  His  appearance 
was  grave  and  even  noble,  well  becoming  one  who  held  a  high 


to  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

office  in  the  state  ;  and  it  was  not,  save  after  long  and  intimate 
conversation  with  him  upon  topics  of  pressing  and  personal  in- 
terest, that  a  stranger  could  have  discovered  something  vacil- 
lating and  uncertain  in  his  resolutions ;  an  infirmity  of  purpose, 
arising  from  a  cautious  and  timid  disposition,  which,  as  he  was 
conscious  of  its  interna4  influence  on  his  mind,  he  was,  from 
pride  as  well  as  policy,  most  anxious  to  conceal  from  others. 

He  listened  with  great  apparent  composure  to  an  exagger- 
ated account  of  the  tumult  which  had  taken  place  at  the  fune 
ral,  of  the  contempt  thrown  on  his  own  authority,  and  that 
of  the  church  and  state  ;  nor  did  he  seem  moved  even  by  the 
faithful  report  of  the  insulting  and  threatening  language  which 
had  been  uttered  by  young  Ravenswood  and  others,  and  ob- 
viously directed  against  himself.  He  heard,  also,  what  the 
man  had  been  able  to  collect,  in  a  very  distorted  and  ag- 
gravated shape,  of  the  toasts  which  had  been  drunk,  and  the 
menaces  uttered,  at  the  subsequent  entertainment.  In  fine, 
he  made  careful  notes  of  the  particulars,  and  of  the  names  of  the 
persons  by  whom,  in  case  of  need,  an  accusation,  founded  upon 
these  violent  proceedings  could  be  witnessed  and  made  good,  and 
dismissed  his  informer,  secure  that  he  was  now  master  of  the  re 
maining  fortune,  and  even  of  the  personal  liberty,  of  young 
Ravenswood. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  officer  of  the  law,  the 
Lord  Keeper  remained  for  a  moment  in  deep  meditation  ; 
then,  starting  from  his  seat,  paced  the  apartment  as  one  about 
to  take  a  sudden  and  energetic  resolution.  "  Young  Ravens- 
wood," he  muttered,  "  is  now  mine — he  is  my  own — he  has 
placed  himself  in  my  hand,  and  he  shall  bend  or  break.  I 
have  not  forgot  the  determined  and  dogged  obstinacy  with 
which  his  father  fought  every  point  to  the  last,  resisted  every 
effort  at  compromise,  embroiled  me  in  lawsuits,  and  attempted 
to  assail  my  character  when  he  could  not  otherwise  impugn  my 
rights.  This  boy  he  has  left  behind  him — this  Fxlgar — this 
hot-headed,  harebrained  fool,  has  wrecked  his  vessel  before  she 
has  cleared  the  harbor,  I  must  see  that  he  gains  no  advan- 
tage of  some  turning  tide  which  may  again  float  him  off.  These 
memoranda,  properly  stated  to  the  Privy  Council,  cannot  but 
be  construed  into  an  aggravated  riot,  in  which  the  dignity  both 
of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities  stands  committed 
A  heavy  fine  might  be  imposed  ;  an  order  for  committing 
him  to  Edinburgh  or  Blackness  Castle  seems  not  improper; 
even  a  charge  of  treason  might  be  laid  on  many  of  these  words 
and  expressions,  though  God  forbid  I  should  prosecute  the 
matter  to  that  extent.     No,  I  will  not ; — I  will  not  touch  hi^ 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  x\ 

life  even  if  it  should  be  in  my  power ; — and  yet,  if  he  lives  till 
n  change  of  times,  what  follows  ? — Restitution— perhaps  re- 
venge. I  know  Athole  promised  his  interest  to  old  Ravens- 
•A'ood,  and  here  is  his  son  already  bandying  and  making  a 
faction  by  his  own  contemptible  influence.  What  a  ready  tool 
he  would  be  for  the  use  of  those  who  are  watching  the  downfall 
.;f  our  administration  !  " 

While  these  thoughts  were  agitating  the  mind  of  the  wil/ 
-.^atesman,  and  while  he  was  persuading  himself  that  his  own 
.nterest  and  safety,  as  well  as  those  of  his  friends  and  party, 
depenxled  on  using  the  present  advantage  to  the  uttermost 
against  young  Ravenswood,  the  Lord  Keeper  sat  down  to  his 
desk,  and  proceeded  to  draw  up,  for  the  information  of  the 
Privy  Council,  an  account  of  the  disorderly  proceedings  which, 
in  contempt  of  his  warrant,  had  taken  place  at  the  funeral  of 
Lord  Ravenswood.  The  names  of  most  of  the  parties  con- 
cerned, as  well  as  the  fact  itself,  would,  he  was  well  aware, 
sound  odiously  in  the  ears  of  his  colleagues  in  administration, 
and  most  likely  instigate  them  to  make  an  example  of  young 
Ravenswood,  at  least,  in  tcrrorem. 

It  was  a  point  of  delicacy,  however,  to  select  such  expres- 
sions  as   might   infer   the    young   man's   culpability,    without 
seeming  directly  to  urge  it,  which,  on  the  part  of   Sir  William 
Ashton,  his  father's  ancient  antagonist,  could  not  but  appear 
odious  and  invidious.     While  he  was  in  the  act  of  composition, 
laboring  to   find  words  which  might    indicate    Edgar  Ravens- 
wood to  be  the  cause  of  the  uproar,  without  specifically  making 
such  a  charge,  Sir  William,  in  a  pause  of  his  task,  chanced, 
in  looking  upward,  to  see  the  crest  of  the  family  (for  whose 
heir  he  was  whetting  the  arrows,  and  disposing  the    toils    of 
the  law),  carved  upon  one   of   the  corbeilles  from  which  the         , 
vaulted  roof  of  the   apartment  sprung.     It  was  a  black  bull's       -  * 
head,  with  the  legend,  \\   bide   my  time  ;T  and  the  occasion   . 
upon  which  it  was  adopt~ed  mingled  itself  singularly  and  im-    " 
pressively  with  the  subject  of  his  present  reflections.  >^^>|J 

It  was  said  by  a  constant  tradition,  that  a  Malisius  de 
Riivenswood  had  in  the  thirteenth  century,  been  deprived  of  his 
castle  and  lands  by  a  powerful  usurper,  who  for  a  while  eiu 
joyed  his  spoils  in  quiet.  At  length,  on  the  eve  of  a  costly 
banquet,  Ravenswood,  who  had  watched  his  opportunity,  in- 
troduced himself  into  the  castle  with  a  small  band  of  faithful 
retainers.  The  serving  of  the  expected  feast  was  impatiently 
looked  for  by  the  guests,  and  clamorously  demanded  by  the 
temporary  master  of  the  castle.  Ravenswood,  who  had  as* 
srr  rd  the  disguise  of  a  sewer  upon  the  occasion,  answered,  in 


12  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Stem  voice,  "  I  bide  my  time ;  "  and  at  the  same  moraeui  A 
bull's  head,  the  ancient  symbol  of  death,  was  placed  upon  the 
table.  The  explosion  of  the  conspiracy  took  place  upon  the 
signal,  and  the  usurper  and  his  followers  were  put  to  death. 
Perhaps  there  was  something  in  this  still  known  and  often  re- 
peated story,  which  came  immediately  home  to  the  breast  and 
conscience  of  the  Lord  Keeper  ;  for,  putting  from  him  the  par 
per  on  which  he  had  begun  his  report,  and  carefully  locking 
the  memoranda  which  he  had  prepared  into  a  cabinet  which 
stood  beside  him,  he  proceeded  to  walk  abroad,  as  if  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  his  ideas,  and  reflecting  further  on  the 
consequences  of  the  step  which  he  was  about  to  take,  ere  yet 
they  became  inevitable. 

In  passing  through  a  large  Gothic  anteroom^  Sir  William 
Ashton  heard  the  sound  of  his  daughter's  lute.  [  Music,  when 
the  performers  are  concealed,  affects  us  with  a  pleasure  mingled 
with  surprise,  and  reminds  us  of  the  natural  concert  of  birds 
among  the  leafy  bowers.,,-  The  statesman,  though  little  accus- 
tomed to  give  way  to  emotions  of  this  natural  and  simple  class, 
was  still  a  man  and  a  father.  He  stopped,  therefore,  and  list- 
ened, while  the  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  voice  mingled 
with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to  which  some  one 
had  adapted  the  following  words  : — 

"  Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, — 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming, — • 
Taste  not  when  flie  wine-cup  glistens,— 
Speak  not  when  the  ])eople  listens, — 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer, — 
From  the  red  gold  keeji  thy  finger, — 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, — 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die." 

The  sounds  ceased,  and  the  Keeper  entered  his  daughter's 
apartment. 

The  words  she  had  chosen  seemed  particularly  adapted  to 
her  character;  for  Lucy  Ashton's  exquisitely  beautiful,  yet 
somewhat  girlish  features,  were  formed  to  express  peace  of  mind, 
serenity  and  indifference  to  the  tinsel  of  worldly  pleasure.  Her 
locks,  which  were  of  shadowy  gold,  divided  on  a  brow  of  ex- 
quisite whiteness,  like  a  gleam  of  broken  and  pallid  sunshine 
upon  a  hill  of  snow.  The  expression  of  the  countenance  was 
in  the  last  d^-pjree  gentle,  soft,  timid,  and  feminine,  and  seemed 
rather  to  shrink  from  the  most  casual  look  of  a  stranger,  than 
to  court  his  admiration.  Something  there  was  of  a  Madonna 
cast,  perhaps  the  result  of  delicate  health,  and  of  residence  in  g 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


'3 


family  where  the  dispositions  of  the  inmates  were  fiercer,  more 
active,  and  energetic,  than  her  own. 

Yet  her  passiveness  of  disposition  was  by  no  means  owing 
to  an  indifferent  or  unfeeling  mind.  Left  to  the  impulse  of  hei 
own  taste  and  feeling,  Lucy  Ashton  was  peculiarly  accessible  to 
those  of  a  romantic  cast.  Her  secret  delight  was  in  the  old 
legendary  tales  of  ardent  devotion  and  unalterable  affection, 
checkered  as  they  so  often  are  with  strange  adventures  and 
supernatural  horrors.  This  was  her  favored  fairy  realm,  and 
here  she  erected  her  aerial  palaces.  But  it  was  only  in  secret 
that  she  labored  at  this  delusive,  though  delightful  architecture. 
In  her  retired  chamber,  or  in  the  woodland  bower  which  she 
had  chosen  for  her  own,  and  called  after  her  name,  she  was  in 
fancy  distributing  the  prizes  at  the  tournament,  or  raining  down 
influence  from  her  eyes  on  the  valiant  combatants  ;  or  she  was 
wandering  in  the  wilderness  with  Una,  under  escort  of  the  gen- 
erous lion  ;  or  she  was  identifying  herself  wiih  the  simple,  yet 
noble-minded  Miranda,  in  the  isle  of  wonder  and  enchantment. 

But  in  her  exterior  relations  to  things  of  this  world,  Lucy 
willingly  received  the  ruling  impulse  from  those  around  her. 
The  alternative  was,  in  general,  too  indifferent  to  her  to  render 
resistance  desirable,  and  she  willingly  found  a  motive  for  deci- 
sion in  the  opinion  of  her  friends,  which  perhaps  she  might  have 
sought  for  in  vain  in  her  own  choice.  Every  reader  must  have 
observed  ^^  some  family  of  his  acquaintance  some  individual  of 
a  temper  soft  and  yielding,  who,  mixed  with  stronger  and  more 
ardent  minds,  is  borne  along  by  the  will  of  others,  with  as  little 
power  uf  opposition  as  the  flower  which  is  flung  into  a  running 
stream.  It  usually  happens  that  such  a  compliant  and  easy 
disposition,  which  resigns  itself  without  murmur  to  the  guidance 
of  others,  becomes  the  darling  of  those  to  whose  inclinations  its 
own  seemed  to  be  offered,  in  ungrudging  and  ready  sacrifice. 

This  was  eminently  the  case  with  Lucy  Ashton.  Her  politic, 
war)',  and  worldly  father,  felt  for  her  an  affection,  the  strength 
of  which  sometimes  surprised  him  into  an  unusual  emotion. 
Her  elder  brother,  who  trode  the  path  of  ambition  with  a 
haughtier  step  than  his  father,  had  also  more  of  human  affection. 
A  soldier,  and  in  a  dissolute  age,  he  preferred  his  sister  Lucy 
even  to  pleasure,  and  to  military  preferment  and  distinction. 
Her  younger  brother,  at  an  age  when  trifles  chiefly  occupied 
his  mind,  made  her  the  confidant  of  all  his  pleasures  and  anxie- 
ties, his  success  in  field-sports,  and  his  quarrels  with  his  tutor 
and  instructors.  To  these  details,  however  trivial,  Lucy  lent 
patient  and  not  indifferent  attention.  They  moved  and  inter- 
ested Henry,  and  that  was  enough  to  secure  her  ear. 


14 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


Her  mother  alone  did  not  feel  that  distinguished  and  pre- 
dominating affection,  with  which  the  rest  of  the  family  cherished 
Lucy.  She  regarded  what  she  termed  her  daughter's  want  of 
spirit,  as  a  decided  mark,  that  the  more  plebeian  blood  of  her 
father  predominated  in  Lucy's  veins,  and  used  to  call  her  in 
derision  her  Lammermoor  Shepherdess.  To  dislike  so  gentle 
and  inoffensive  a  being  was  impossible  ;  but  Lady  Ashton  pre- 
ferred her  eldest  son,  on  whom  had  descended  a  large  portion  o( 
her  own  ambitious  and  undaunted  disposition,  to  a  daughter 
whose  softness  of  temper  seemed  allied  to  feebleness  of  mind. 
Her  eldest  son  was  the  more  partially  beloved  by  his  mother, 
because,  contrary  to  the  usual  custom  of  Scottish  families  of 
distinction,  he  had  been  named  after  the  head  of  the  house. 

"My  Sholto,"  she  said,  "will  support  the  untarnished  honor 
of  his  maternal  house,  and  elevate  and  support  that  of  his 
father.  Poor  Lucy  is  unfit  for  courts  or  crowded  halls.  Some 
country  laird  must  be  her  husband,  rich  enough  to  supply  her 
with  every  comfort,  without  an  effort  on  her  own  part,  so  that 
she  may  have  nothing  to  shed  a  tear  for  but  the  tender  appre- 
hension lest  he  may  break  his  neck  in  a  fox-chase.  It  was  not 
so,  however,  that  our  house  was  raised,  nor  is  it  so  that  it  can 
be  fortified  and  augmented.  The  Lord  Keeper's  dignity  is  yet 
new ;  it  must  be  borne  as  if  we  were  used  to  its  weight,  worthy 
of  it  and  prompt  to  assert  and  maintain  it.  Before  ancient 
authorities  men  bend,  from  customary  and  hereditary  deference  ; 
in  our  presence,  they  will  stand  erect,  unless  they  are  compelled 
to  prostrate  themselves.  A  daughter  fit  for  the  sheep-fold  or 
the  cloister,  is  ill-qualified  to  exact  respect  where  it  is  yielded 
with  reluctance  ;  and  since  Heaven  refused  us  a  third  boy,  Lucy 
should  have  held  a  character  fit  to  supply  his  place.  The  hour 
will  be  a  happy  one  which  disposes  her  hand  in  marriage  to 
some  one  whose  energy  is  greater  than  her  own,  or  whose  ar/i- 
bition  is  of  as  low  an  order." 

So  meditated  a  mother,  to  whom  the  qualities  of  her  children's 
hearts,  as  well  as  the  prospect  of  their  domestic  happiness, 
seemed  light  in  comparison  to  their  rank  and  temporal  greatness. 
But,  like  many  a  parent  of  hot  and  impatient  character,  she  was 
mistaken  in  estimating  the  feelings  of  her  daughter,  who,  under 
a  semblance  of  extreme  indifference,  nourished  the  germ  of  those 
passions  which  sometimes  spring  up  in  one  night,  like  the  gourd 
of  the  prophet,  and  astonish  the  observer  by  their  unexpected 
ardor  and  intensity.  In  fact,  Lucy's  sentiments  seemed  chill, 
because  nothing  had  occurred  to  interest  or  awaken  them.  Her 
life  had  hitherto  flowed  on  in  a  uniform  and  gentle  tenor,  and 
happy   for  her  had   not    its   present   smoothness   of   current 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


15 


I 


resembled  that  of  the  stream  as  it  glides  downward   to  the 
waterfall ! 

"  So,  Lucy,"  said  her  father,  entering  as  her  song  was  ended, 
"  does  your  musical  philosopher  teach  you  to  contemn  the  world 
before  you  know  it? — that  is  surely  something  premature.  Or 
did  you  but  speak  according  to  the  fashion  of  fair  maidens,  who 
are  always  to  hold  the  pleasures  of  life  in  contempt  till  they  are 
pressed  upon  them  by  the  address  of  some  gentle  knight  ?  " 

Lucy  blushed,  disclaimed  any  inference  respecting  her  own 
choice  being  drawn  from  her  selection  of  a  song,  and  readily 
laid  aside  her  instrument  at  her  father's  request  that  she  would 
attend  him  in  his  walk. 

A  large  and  well-wooded  park,  or  rather  chase,  stretched 
along  the  hill  behind  the  castle,  which  occupying,  as  we  have 
noticed,  a  pass  ascending  from  the  plain,  seemed  built  in  its 
very  gorge  to  defend  the  forest  ground  which  arose  behind  it 
in  shaggy  majesty.  Into  this  romantic  region  the  father  and 
daughter  proceeded,  arm  in  arm,  by  a  noble  avenue  overarched 
by  embowering  elms,  beneath  which  groups  of  the  fallow-deer 
were  seen  to  stray  in  distant  perspective.  As  they  paced  slowly 
on  admiring  the  different  points  of  view,  for  which  Sir  William 
Ashton,  notwithstanding  the  nature  of  his  usual  avocations,  had 
considerable  taste  and  feeling,  they  were  overtaken  by  the 
forester,  or  park-keeper,  who,  intent  on  silvan  sport,  was  pro 
ceeding  with  his  cross-bow  over  his  arm,  and  a  hound  led  in 
leash  by  his  boy,  into  the  interior  of  the  wood. 

"  Going  to  shoot  us  a  piece  of  venison,  Norman  ?  "  said  his 
master,  as  he  returned  the  woodman's  salutation. 

"  Saul,  your  honor,  and  that  I  am.  Will  it  please  you  to 
see  the  sport  ?  " 

"  O  no,"  said  his  lordship,  after  looking  at  his  daughter, 
whose  color  fled  at  the  idea  of  seeing  the  deer  shot,  although., 
had  her  father  expressed  his  wish  that  they  should  accompany 
Norman,  it  was  probable  she  would  not  even  have  hinted  her 
reluctance. 

The  forester  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  was  a  disheart 
enmg  thing,"  he  said,  "when  none  of  the  gentles  came  down 
to  see  the  sport.  He  hoped  Captain  Sholto  would  be  soon  hame, 
or  he  might  shut  up  his  shop  entirely  ;  for  Mr.  Harry  was  kept 
sae  close  wi'  his  Latin  nonsense,  that,  though  his  will  was  very 
gude  to  be  in  the  wood  from  morning  till  night,  there  would  be 
a  hopeful  lad  lost,  and  no  making  a  man  of  him.  It  was  not 
so,  he  had  heard,  in  Lord  Ravenwood's  time — when  a  buck 
was  to  be  killed,  man  and  mother's  son  ran  to  see  ;  and  when 
the  deer  fell,  the  knife  was  always  presented  to  the  kniglit.  and 


,6  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

he  never  gave  less  than  a  dollar  for  the  compliment.  And  there 
was  Edgar  Ravenswood — Master  of  Ravenswood  that  is  now — • 
when  he  goes  up  to  the  wood — there  hasna  been  a  better  hun- 
ter since  Tristrem's  time — when  Sir  Edgar  bauds  out,*  down 
goes  the  deer,  faith.  But  we  hae  lost  a'  sense  of  wood-craft  on 
this  side  of  the  hill." 

There  was  much  in  this  harangue  highly  displeasing  to  the 
Lord  Keeper's  feelings  ;  he  could  not  help  observing  that  his 
menial  despised  him  almost  avowedly  for  not  posessing  that 
taste  for  sport,  which  in  those  times  was  deemed  the  natural 
and  indispensable  attribute  of  a  real  gentleman.  But  the  mas- 
ter of  the  game  is,  in  all  country  houses,  a  man  of  great  impor- 
tance, and  entitled  to  use  considerable  freedom  of  speech.  Sir 
William,  therefore,  only  smiled  and  replied,  he  had  something 
else  to  think  upon  to-day  than  killing  deer  ;  meantime,  taking 
out  his  purse,  he  gave  the  ranger  a  dollar  for  his  encourage- 
ment. The  fellow  received  it  as  the  waiter  of  a  fashionable 
hotel  receives  double  his  proper  fee  from  the  hands  of  a  coun- 
try gentleman, — that  is,  with  a  smile,  at  which  pleasure  at  the 
gift  is  mingled  with  contempt  for  the  ignorance  of  the  donor. 
"  Your  honor  is  the  bad  paymaster,"  he  said,  ''  who  pays  before 
it  is  done.  What  would  you  do  were  I  to  miss  the  buck  after 
you  have  paid  me  my  wood-fee  t  " 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  Keeper,  smiling,  "you  would  hardly 
guess  what  I  mean  were  I  to  tell  you  of  a  condictio  indcbiti  1 " 

"  Not  I,  on  my  saul — I  guess  it  is  some  law  phrase — but 
sue  a  beggar,  and — your  honor  knows  what  follows. — Well,  but 
I  will  be  just  with  you,  and  if  bow  and  brach  fail  not,  you  shall 
have  a  piece  of  game  two  fingers  fat  on  the  brisket." 

As  he  was  about  to  go  off,  his  master  again  called  him,  and 
asked,  as  if  by  accident,  whether  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  was 
actually  so  brave  a  man  and  so  good  a  shooter  as  the  world 
spoke  him  ? 

"  Brave  !  brave  enough,  I  warrant  you,"  answered  Norman  ; 
"  I  was  in  the  wood  at  Tyninghame,  when  there  was  a  sort  of 
gallants  hunting  with  my  lord  :  on  my  saul,  there  was  a  buck 
turned  to  bay  made  us  all  stand  back  ;  a  stout  old  Trojan  of 
the  first  head,  ten-tyned  branches,  and  a  brow  as  broad  as  e'er 
a  bullock's.  Egad,  he  dashed  at  the  old  lord,  and  there  would 
have  been  inlake  among  the  peerage,  if  the  Master  had  not 
whipt  roundly  in,  and  hamstrung  him  with  his  cutlass.  He  was 
but  sixteen  then,  bless  his  heart  !  " 

"  And  is  he  as  ready  with  the  gun  as  with  the  couteau  ?  "  said 
Sir  William. 

*Hauds  out.     Holds  out,  i.e.  presents  his  piece. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


»7 


"  He'll  strike  this  silver  dollar  out  from  beneath  my  finger 
and  thumb  at  four  score  yards,  and  I'll  hold  it  out  for  a  gold 
merk  ;  what  more  would  you  have  of  eye,  hand,  lead,  and  gun- 
powder ?  " 

"  O,  no  more  to  be  wished,  certainly,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper ; 
*'  but  we  keep  you  from  your  sport,  Norman.  Good-morrow. 
good  Norman." 

And  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeoman  went  on  his 
road,  the  sound  of  his  rough  voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the 
distance  betwixt  them  increased  : — 

"  The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 
The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime  ; 
But  the  yeomen  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 
'Tis  time,  my  hearts,  'tis  time. 

"  There's  bucks  and  raes  on  Bilhope  braes, 
There's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw  ; 
But  a  lily-white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 
She's  fairly  worth  them  a'." 

"Has  this  fellow,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  when  the  yea 
man's  song  had  died  on  the  wind,  "  ever  served  the  Ravens- 
wood  people,  that  he  seems  so  much  interested  in  them  ?  I 
suppose  you  know,  Lucy,  for  you  make  it  a  point  of  conscience 
to  record  the  special  history  of  every  boor  about  the  castle." 

"I  am  not  quite  so  faithful  a  chronicler,  my  dear  father; 
but  I  believe  that  Norman  once  served  here  while  a  boy,  and 
before  he  went  to  Ledington,  whence  you  hired  him.  But  if  you 
want  to  know  anything  of  the  former  family.  Old  Alice  is  the 
best  authority." 

"  And  what  should  I  have  to  do  with  them,  pray,  Lucy," 
said  her  father,  "  or  with  their  history  or  accomplishments .-"  " 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  know,  sir ;  only  that  you  were  asking  ques- 
tions of  Norman  about  young  Ravenswood." 

"  Pshaw,  child  !" — replied  her  father,  yet  immediately  added^ 
"  and  who  is  old  Alice  ?  I  think  you  know  all  the  old  women 
in  the  country." 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  or  how  could  I  help  the  old  creatures 
•when  they  are  in  hard  times  ?  And  as  to  old  Alice,  she  is  the 
very  empress  of  old  women,  and  queen  of  gossips,  so  far  as 
legendary  lore  is  concerned.  She  is  blind,  poor  old  soul,  but 
when  she  speaks  to  you,  you  would  think  she  has  some  way  ol 
looking  into  your  very  heart.  I  am  sure  I  often  cover  my  face, 
or  turn  it  away,  for  it  seems  as  if  she  saw  one  change  color, 
though  she  has  been  blind  these  twenty  years.  She  is  worth 
visiting,  were  it  bijt  to  say  you  have  seen  a  blind  and  paralytio 


l8  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMEKMOOR. 

old  woman  have  so  much  acuteness  of  perception,  and  dignity 
of  manners.  I  assure  you  she  might  be  a  countess  from  hei 
language  and  behavior. — Come,  you  must  go  to  see  Alice ; 
we  are  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  her  cottage." 

'*  All  this,  my  dear,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  is  no  answer 
to  my  question,  who  this  woman  is,  and  what  is  her  connection 
with  the  former  proprietor's  family  ?  " 

"  O,  it  was  something  of  a  nourice-ship,  I  believe  ;  and  she 
remained  here,  because  her  two  grandsons  were  engaged  in 
your  service.  But  it  was  against  her  will  I  fancy ;  for  the 
poor  old  creature  is  always  regretting  the  change  of  time  and 
of  property." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  her,"  answered  the  Lord  Keeper. 
**  She  and  her  folk  eat  my  bread,  and  drink  my  cup,  and  are 
lamenting  all  the  while  that  they  are  not  still  under  a  family 
which  never  could  do  good,  either  to  themselves  or  any  one 
else  ! " 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Lucy,  "  I  am  certain  you  do  old  Alice 
injustice.  She  has  nothing  mercenary  about  her,  and  would 
not  accept  a  penny  in  charity,  if  it  were  to  save  her  from  being 
starved.  She  is  only  talkative,  like  all  old  folk,  when  you  put 
them  on  stories  of  their  youth  ;  and  she  speaks  about  the 
Ravenswood  people,  because  she  lived  under  them  so  many 
years.  But  I  am  sure  she  is  grateful  to  you,  sir,  for  your  pro- 
tection, and  that  she  would  rather  speak  to  you,  than  to  any 
other  person  in  the  whole  world  beside.  Do,  sir,  come  and 
see  old  Alice," 

And,  with  the  freedom  of  an  indulged  daughter,  she  drag- 
ged the  Lord  Keeper  in  Llie  direction  she  desired. 


CHAPTER    THIRD. 

Through  tops  of  the  high  trees  she  did  descry 
A  little  smoke,  whose  vapor,  thin  and  light, 
Reeking  aloft,  uprolled  to  the  sky, 
Which  cheerful  sign  did  send  unto  her  sight, 
That  in  the  same  did  wonne  some  living  wight 

Spenser. 

Lucy  acted  as  her  father's  guide,  for  he  was  too  much  ei> 
grossed  with  his  political  labors,  or  with  society,  to  be  per- 
fectly  acquainted  with  his  own  extensive  domains,  and,  more- 
over, was  generally  an  inhabitant  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh  ; 
and  she,  on  the  other  hand,  had,  with  her  mother,  resided  the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


19 


whole  summer  in  Ravenswood,  and  partly  from  taste,  partly 
from  want  of  any  other  amusement,  had,  by  her  frequent  ran> 
bles,  learnt  to  know  each  lane,  alley,  dingle,  or  bushy  dell, 

And  every  bosky  bourne  from  side  to  side. 

We  have  said  that  the  Lord  Keeper  was  not  indifferent  to 
the  beauties  of  nature  ;  and  we  add,  in  justice  to  him,  that  he 
felt  them  doubly,  when  pointed  out  by  the  beautiful,  simple, 
and  interesting  girl,  who,  hanging  on  his  arm  with  filial  kind- 
ness, now  called  him  to  admire  the  size  of  some  ancient  oak, 
and  now  the  unexpected  turn,  where  the  path,  developing  its 
maze  from  glen  or  dingle,  suddenly  reached  an  eminence  com- 
manding an  extensive  view  of  the  plains  beneath  them,  and 
then  gradually  glided  away  from  the  prospect  to  lose  itself 
among  rocks  and  thickets,  and  guide  to  scenes  of  deeper  seclu- 
sion. 

It  was  when  pausing  on  one  of  those  points  of  extensive 
and  commanding  view,  that  Lucy  told  her  father  they  were 
close  by  the  cottage  of  her  blind  prote'gee  ;  and  on  turning  from 
the  little  hill,  a  path  which  led  around  it,  worn  by  the  daily 
steps  of  the  infirm  inmate,  brought  them  in  sight  of  the  hut, 
which,  embosomed  in  a  deep  and  obscure  dell,  seemed  to  have 
been  so  situated  purposely  to  bear  a  correspondence  with  the 
darkened  state  of  its  inhabitant. 

The  cottage  was  situated  immediately  under  a  tall  rock, 
which  in  some  measure  beetled  over  it,  as  if  threatening  to  drop 
some  detached  fragment  from  its  brow  on  the  frail  tenement 
beneath.  The  hut  itself  was  constructed  of  turf  and  stones, 
and  rudely  roofed  over  with  thatch,  much  of  which  was  in  a 
dilapidated  condition.  The  thin  blue  smoke  rose  from  it  in  a 
light  column,  and  curled  upward  along  the  white  face  of  the  in- 
cumbent rock,  giving  the  scene  a  tint  of  exquisite  softness.  In 
a  small  and  rude  garden,  surrounded  by  straggling  elder-bushes, 
which  formed  a  sort  of  imperfect  hedge,  sat,  near  to  the  bee- 
hives, by  the  produce  of  which  she  lived,  that  "  woman  old," 
whom  Lucy  had  brought  her  father  hither  to  visit. 

Whatever  there  had  been  which  was  disastrous  in  her  for* 
tune — whatever  there  was  miserable  in  her  dwelling,  it  was  easy 
to  judge,  by  the  first  glance,  that  neither  years,  poverty,  mis- 
fortune, nor  infirmity,  had  broken  the  spirit  of  this  remarkable 
woman. 

She  occupied  a  turf-seat  placed  under  a  weeping  birch  of 
unusual  magnitude  and  age,  as  Judah  is  represented  sitting  un- 
der her  palm-tree,  with  an  air  at  once  of  majesty  and  of  dejec- 
tion.    Her  figure  was  tall,  commanding,  and  but  little  bent  by 


io  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

the  infirmities  of  old  age.  Her  dress,  though  that  of  a  peasant, 
was  uncommonly  clean,  forming  in  that  particular  a  strong 
contrast  to  most  of  her  rank,  and  was  disposed  with  an  atten- 
tion to  neatness  and  even  to  taste,  equally  unusual.  But  it 
was  her  expression  of  countenance  which  chiefly  struck  the  spec- 
tator, and  induced  most  persons  to  address  her  with  a  degree 
of  deference  and  civility  very  inconsistent  with  the  miserable 
state  of  her  dwelling,  and  which,  nevertheless,  she  received 
with  that  easy  composure  which  showed  she  felt  it  to  be  her 
due.  She  had  once  been  beautiful,  but  her  beauty  had  been  of 
a  bold  and  masculine  cast,  such  as  does  not  survive  the  bloom 
of  youth  ;  yet  her  features  continued  to  express  strong  sense, 
deep  reflection,  and  a  character  of  sober  piide,  which,  as  we 
have  already  said  of  her  dress,  appeared  to  argue  a  conscious 
superiority  to  those  of  her  own  rank.  It  scarce  seemed  possible 
that  a  face,  deprived  of  the  advantage  of  sight,  could  have  ex- 
pressed character  so  strongly  ;  but  her  eyes,  which  were  almost 
totally  closed,  did  not,  by  the  display  of  their  sightless  orbs, 
mar  the  countenance  to  which  they  could  add  nothing.  She 
seemed  in  a  ruminating  posture,  soothed,  perhaps,  by  the  mur- 
murs of  the  busy  tribe  around  her,  to  abstraction,  though  not  to 
slumber. 

Lucy  undid  the  latch  of  the  little  garden  gate,  and  solicited 
the  old  woman's  attention.  "  My  father,  Alice,  is  come  to  see 
you." 

"  He  is  welcome.  Miss  Ashton,  and  so  are  you,"  said  the 
old  woman,  turning  and  inclining  her  head  toward  her  visitors. 

"  This  is  a  fine  morning  for  your  bee-hives,  mother,"  said 
the  Lord  Keeper,  who,  struck  with  the  outward  appearance  of 
Alice,  was  somewhat  curious  to  know  if  her  conversation 
would  correspond  with  it. 

"  I  believe  so,  my  lord,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  feel  the  air  breathe 
milder  than  of  late." 

"  You  do  not,"  resumed  the  statesman,  "  take  charge  of 
these  bees  yourself,  mother } — How  do  you  manage  them  }  " — 

"  By  delegates,  as  kings  do  their  subjects,"  resumed  Alice  , 
*^  and  1  am  fortunate  in  a  prime  minister — Here,  Babie." 

She  whistled  on  a  small  silver  call  which  hung  around  her 
neck,  and  which  at  that  time  was  sometimes  used  to  summon  dom- 
estics, and  Babie,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  made  her  appearance  from 
the  hut,  not  altogether  so  cleanly  arrayed  as  she  would  probably 
have  been  had  Alice  had  the  use  of  her  eyes,  but  with  a  greater 
air  of  neatness  than  was  upon  the  whole  to  have  been  ex- 
pected. 

"  Babie,"  said  her  mistress,  "  offer  some  bread  and  honey 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  2I 

to  the  Lord  Keeper  and   Miss  Ashton — they  will  excuse  your 
awkwardness  if  you  use  cleanliness  and  despatch." 

Babie  performed  her  mistress's  command  with  the  grace 
which  was  naturally  to  have  been  expected,  moving  to  and  fro 
with  ailobster-like  gesture,  her  feet  and  legs  tending  one  way, 
while  her  head,  turned  in  a  different  direction,  was  fixed  in 
wonder  upon  the  laird,  who  was  more  frequently  heard  of  than 
seen  by  his  tenants  and  dependants.  The  bread  and  honey, 
however,  deposited  on  a  plantain  leaf,  was  offered  and  ac- 
cepted in  all  due  courtesy.  The  Lord  Keeper,  still  retaining 
the  place  which  he  had  occupied  on  the  decayed  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree,  looked  as  if  he  wished  to  prolong  the  interview, 
but  was  at  a  loss  how  to  introduce  a  suitable  subject. 

"  You  have  been  long  a  resident  on  this  property  .'"'  he  said, 
after  a  pause. 

"  It  is  now  nearly  sixty  years  since  I  first  knew  Ravens- 
wood,"  answered  the  old  dame,  whose  conversation,  though 
perfectly  civil  and  respectful,  seemed  cautiously  limited  to  the 
unavoidable  and  necessary  task  of  replying  to  Sir  William. 

"  You   are  not,  I  should  judge  by  your  accent,  of  this  coun- 
try originally  ?"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  in  continuation. 
"  No  ;  I  am  by  birth  an  Englishwoman." 
"  Yet  you  seem  attached  to  this   country^  as  if  it  were  your 
own." 

"  It  is  here,"  replied  the  blind  woman,"  that  I  have  drunk 
the  cup  of  joy  and  of  sorrow  which  Heaven  destined  for  me. 
I  was  here  the  wife  of  an  upright  and  affectionate  husband 
for  more  than  twenty  years — I  was  here  the  mother  of  six  ])ro- 
mising  children — it  was  here  that  God  deprived  me  of  all  these 
blessings — it  was  here  they  died,  and  yonder,  by  yon  ruined 
chapel,  they  lie  all  buried — I  had  no  country  but  theirs  while 
they  lived — I  have  none  but  theirs  now  they  are  no  more." 

"  But  your  house,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  looking  at  it, 
"  is  miserably  ruinous  ?  " 

"  Do,  my  dear  father,"  said  Lucy,  eagerly,  yet  bashfully, 
catching  at  the  hint,  "  give  orders  to  make  it  better, — that 
is,  if  you  think  it  proper." 

"It  will  last  my  time,  my  dear  Miss  Lucy,"  said  the  blind 
woman  ;  "  I  would  not  have  my  lord  give  himself  the  least 
trouble  about  it." 

"But,"  said  Lucy,  "you  once  had  a  much  better  house, 
and  were  rich,  and  now  in  your  old  age  to  live  in  this  hovel  !  " 

"  It  is  as  good  as  I  deserve.  Miss  Lucy;  if  my  heart  has 
not  broke  with  what  I  have  suffered,  and  seen  others  suffer,  it 


22  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOO^. 

must  have  been  strong  enough,  and  the  rest  of  this  old  frame 
has  no  right  to  call  itself  weaker." 

"  You  have  probably  witnessed  many  changes,"  said  the  Lord 
Keeper  ;  "  but  your  experience  must  have  taught  you  to  ex- 
pect them." 

"  It  has  taught  me  to  endure  them,  my  lord,"  was  the  reply 

"  Yet  you  knew  that  they  must  needs  arrive  in  the  course  cf 
years  .-•  "  said  the  statesman. 

"  Ay  ;  as  I  know  that  the  stump,  on  or  beside  which  you 
sit,  once  a  tall  and  lofty  tree,  must  needs  one  day  fall  by  decay, 
or  by  the  axe  ;  yet  I  hoped  my  eyes  might  not  witness  the  down- 
fal  of  the  tree  which  overshadowed  my  dwelling." 

"  Do  not  suppose,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  that  you  will  lose 
any  interest  with  me,  for  looking  back  with  regret  to  the  days 
when  another  family  possessed  my  estates.  You  had  reason, 
doubtless,  to  love  them,  and  I  respect  your  gratitude.  I  will 
order  some  repairs  in  your  cottage,  and  I  hope  we  shall  live  to 
be  friends  when  we  know  each  other  better." 

"  Those  of  ray  age,"  returned  the  dame,  "  make  no  new 
friends.  I  thank  you  for  your  bounty — it  is  well  intended,  un- 
doubtedly; but  I  have  all  I  want,  and  I  cannot  accept  more 
at  your  lordship's  hands." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  at  least  allow 
me  to  say,  that  I  look  upon  you  as  a  woman  of  sense  and 
education  beyond  your  appearance,  and  that  I  hope  you  will 
continue  to  reside  on  this  property  of  mine  rent-free  for  your 
life." 

"  I  hope  I  shall,"  said  the  old  dame,  composedly  ;  "  I  be- 
lieve that  was  made  an  article  in  the  sale  of  Ravenswood  to 
your  lordship,  though  such  a  trifling  circumstance  may  have 
escaped  your  recollection." 

"  I  remember — I  recollect,"  said  his  lordship,  somewhat 
confused.  "  I  perceive  you  are  too  much  attached  to  your  old 
friends  to  accept  any  benefit  from  their  successor." 

"  Far  from  it,  my  lord ;  I  am  grateful  for  the  benefits  which 
I  decline,  and  I  wish  I  could  pay  you  for  offering  them  better 
than  what  I  am  now  about  to  say."  The  Lord  Keeper  looked 
at  her  in  some  surprise,  but  said  not  a  word.  "  My  Lord,"  she 
continued,  in  an  impressive  and  solemn  tone,  "  take  care  what 
you  do  ;  you  are  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice." 

"  Indeed  ? "  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  his  mind  reverting  to 
the  political  circumstances  of  the  country.  "  Has  anything 
come  to  your  knowledge — any  plot  or  conspiracy  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  those  who  traffic  in  such  commodities  do  not 
call  in  to  their  councils  the  old,  blind,  and  infirm.  My  warning  is 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  js^ 

of  another  kind.  You  have  driven  matters  hard  with  the  house 
of  Ravenswood.  Believe  a  true  tale — they  are  a  fierce  house, 
and  there  is  danger  in  dealing  with  men  when  they  become 
desperate." 

"  Tush  !"  answered  the  Keeper ;  "  what  has  been  between  us 
has  been  the  work  of  the  law,  not  my  doing  ;  and  to  the  law 
they  must  look,  if  they  would  impugn  my  proceedings." 

"  Ay,  but  they  may  think  otherwise,  and  take  the  law  into 
their  own  hands,  when  they  fail  of  other  means  of  redress." 

"  What  mean  you  ? "  said  the  Lord  Keeper.  "  Young  Ravens- 
wood  would  not  have  recourse  to  personal  violence  ?" 

"  God  forbid  I  should  say  so  !  I  know  nothing  of  the  youth 
but  what  is  honorable  and  open — honorable  and  open,  said 
I  ? — I  should  have  added,  free,  generous,  noble.  But  he  is  still 
a  Ravenswood,  and  may  bide  his  time.  Remember  the  fate  of 
Sir  George  Lockhart."  * 

The  Lord  Keeper  started  as  she  called  to  his  recollection  a 
tragedy  so  deep  and  so  recent.  The  old  woman  proceeded : 
"  Chiesley,  who  did  the  deed,  was  a  relative  of  Lord  Ravens- 
wood. In  the  hall  of  Ravenswood,  in  my  presence,  and  in  that 
of  others,  he  avowed  publicly  his  determination  to  do  the 
cruelty  which  he  afterward  committed.  I  could  not  keep 
silence,  though  to  speak  it  ill  became  my  station.  '  You  are 
devising  a  dreadful  crime,'  I  said,  '  for  which  you  must  reckon 
before  the  judgment-seat.'  Never  shall  I  forget  his  look,  as  he 
replied,  '  1  must  reckon  then  for  many  things,  and  wil  reckon 
for  this  also.'  Therefore  I  may  well  say,  beware  of  pressing  a 
desperate  man  with  the  hand  of  authority.  There  is  blood  of 
Chiesley  in  the  veins  of  Ravenswood,  and  one  drop  of  it  were 
enough  to  fire  him  in  the  circumstances  in  which  he  is  placed— 
I  say,  beware  of  him." 

The  old  dame  had,  either  intentionally  or  by  accident,  harped 
aright  the  fear  of  the  Lord  Keeper.  The  desperate  and  dark 
resource  of  private  assassination,  so  familiar  to  a  Scottish  baron 
in  former  times,  had  even  in  the  present  age  been  too  frequently 
resorted  to  under  the  pressure  of  unusual  temptation,  or  where 
the  mind  of  the  actor  was  prepared  for  such  a  crime.  Sir 
William  Ashton  was  aware  of  this  ;  as  also  that  young  Ravens- 
wood had  received  injuries  sufficient  to  prompt  him  to  that  sort 
of  revenge,  which  becomes  a  frequent  though  fearful  consequence 
of  the  partial  administration  of  justice.  He  endeavored  to  dis- 
guise from  Alice  the  nature  of  the  apprehensions  which  he  enter- 
tained ;  but  so  ineffectually,  that  a  person  even  of  less  penetration 
than  nature  had  endowed  her  with  must  necessarily  have  been 
*  Note  C.    Sir  George  Lockhart. 


«4  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

aware  that  the  subject  lay  near  his  bosom.  His  voice  was 
changed  in  its  accent  as  he  repHed  to  her,  that  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  was  a  man  of  honor  ;  and  were  it  otherwise,  that 
the  fate  of  Chiesley  of  Dairy  was  a  sufficient  warning  to  any 
who  should  dare  to  assume  the  office  of  avenger  of  his  own 
imaginary  wrongs.  And  having  hastily  uttered  these  expressions, 
he  rose  and  left  the  place  without  waiting  for  a  reply. 


CHAPTER  FOURTH. 

Is  she  a  Capulet  "i 


O  dear  account  1  my  life  is  my  foe's  debt. 

Shakespeare. 

The  Lord  Keeper  walked  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
profound  silence.  His  daughter,  naturally  timid,  and  bred  up 
in  those  ideas  of  filial  awe  and  implicit  obedience  which  were 
inculcated  upon  the  youth  of  that  period,  did  not  venture  to 
interrupt  his  meditations. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  pale,  Lucy  1  "  said  her  father,  turning 
suddenly  round  and  breaking  silence. 

Accordii  g  to  the  ideas  of  the  time,  which  did  not  permit  a 
young  woman  to  offer  her  sentiments  on  any  subject  of  import- 
ance unless  especially  required  to  do  so,  Lucy  was  bound  to 
appear  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  all  that  had  passed  betwixt 
Alice  and  her  lather,  and  imputed  the  emotii-  i  he  had  observed 
to  the  fear  of  the  wild  cattle  which  grazed  in  that  part  of  the 
extensive  chase  through  which  they  were  now  walking 

Of  these  animals,  the  descendants  of  the  savage  herds  which 
anciently  roamed  free  in  the  Caledonian  forests,  it  was  formerly 
a  point  of  state  to  preserve  a  few  in  the  parks  of  the  Scottish 
nobility.  Specimens  continued  within  the  memory  of  man  to  be 
kept  at  least  at  three  houses  of  distinction,  namely,  Hamilton, 
Drumlanrig,  and  Cumbernauld.  They  had  degenerated  from 
the  ancient  race  in  size  and  strength,  if  we  are  to  judge  from  the 
accounts  of  old  chronicles,  and  from  the  formidable  remains  fre- 
quently discovered  in  bogs  and  morasses  when  drained  and  laid 
open.  The  bull  had  iost  the  shaggy  honors  of  his  mane,  and 
the  race  was  small  and  light  made,  in  color  a  dingy  white,  oi 
rather  a  pale  yellow,  with  black  horns  and  hoofs.  They  retained, 
however,  in  some  measure,  the  ferocity  of  their  ancestry,  could 
not  be  domesticated  on  account  of  their  antipathy  to  the  human 
race,  and  were  often  dangerous  if  approached  unguardedly,  or 
wantonly  disturbed. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


?s 


I 


It  was  this  last  reason  which  has  occasioned  their  being 
extirpated  at  the  places  we  have  mentioned,  where  probably 
they  would  otherwise  have  been  retained  as  appropriate  inhabit- 
ants of  a  Scottish  woodland,  and  fit  tenants  for  a  baronial  forest. 
A  few  if  I  mistake  not,  are  still  preserved  at  Chillingham 
Castle,  in  Northumberland,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Tankerville. 

It  was  to  her  finding  herself  in  the  vicinity  of  a  group  of 
three  or  four  of  these  animals,  that  Lucy  thought  proper  to 
impute  those  signs  of  fear  which  had  arisen  in  her  countenance 
for  a  different  reason.  For  she  had  been  familiarized  with  the 
appearance  of  the  wild  cattle,  during  her  walks  in  the  chase  ; 
and  it  was  not  then,  as  it  may  be  now,  a  necessary  part  of  a 
young  lady's  demeanor  to  indulge  in  causeless  tremors  of  the 
nerves.  On  the  present  occasion,  however,  she  speedily  found 
cause  for  real  terror. 

Lucy  had  scarcely  replied  to  her  father  in  the  words  we  have 
mentioned,  and  he  was  just  about  to  rebuke  her  supposed 
timidity,  when  a  bull,  stimulated  either  by  the  scarlet  color 
of  Miss  Ashton's  mantle,  or  by  one  of  those  fits  of  capricious 
ferocity  to  which  their  dispositions  are  liable,  detached  himself 
suddenly  from  the  group  which  was  feeding  at  the  upper  extrem- 
ity of  a  grassy  glade,  that  seemed  to  lose  itself  among  the 
crossing  and  entangled  boughs.  The  animal  approached  the 
intruders  on  his  pasture  ground,  at  first  slowly,  pawing  the 
ground  with  his  hoof,  bellowing  from  time  to  time,  and  tearing 
up  the  sand  with  his  horns,  as  if  to  lash  himself  up  to  rage  and 
violence. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  who  observed  the  animal'o  demeanor, 
was  aware  that  he  was  about  to  become  mischievou"^,  and,  draw- 
ing his  daughter's  arm  under  his  own,  began  to  walk  fast  along 
the  avenue,  in  hopes  to  get  out  of  his  sight  and  his  reach.  This 
was  the  most  injudicious  course  he  could  have  adopted,  for, 
encouraged  by  the  appearance  of  flight,  the  bull  began  to  pur- 
sue them  at  full  speed.  Assailed  by  a  danger  so  imminent, 
firmer  courage  than  that  of  the  Lord  Keeper  might  have  given 
way.  But  paternal  tenderness,  "love  strong  as  death,"  sus- 
tained him.  He  continued  to  support  and  drag  onward  his 
daughter,  until,  her  fears  altogether  depriving  her  of  the  power 
of  flight,  she  sunk  down  by  his  side  ;  and  when  he  could  no 
longer  assist  her  to  escape,  he  turned  round  and  placed  himself 
betwixt  her  and  the  raging  animal, which  advancing  in  full  career, 
its  brutal  fury  enhanced  by  the  rapidity  of  the'  pursuit,  was 
now  within  a  "ew  yiirds  of  them.  The  Lord  Keeper  had  no 
weapons  ;  his   age  and  gravity  disn«>«sed  even  with  the  usual 


a  6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

appendage  of  a  walking  sword, — could  such  appendage  have 
availed  him  anything. 

It  seemed  inevitable  that  the  father  or  daughter,  or  both, 
should  have  fallen  victims  to  the  impending  danger,  when  a 
shot  from  a  neighboring  thicket  arrested  the  progress  of  the 
animal.  He  was  so  truly  struck  between  the  junction  of  the 
spine  with  the  skull,  that  the  wound,  which  in  any  other  part 
of  his  body  might  scarce  have  impeded  his  career,  proved 
Instantly  fatal.  Stumbling  forward  with  a  hideous  bellow,  the 
progressive  force  of  his  previous  motion,  rather  than  any  opera- 
tion of  his  limbs,  carried  him  up  to  within  three  yards  of  the 
astonished  Lord  Keeper,  where  he  rolled  on  the  ground,  his 
limbs  darkened  wfth  the  black  death-sweat,  and  quivering  with 
the  last  convulsions  of  muscular  motion. 

Lucy  lay  senseless  on  the  ground,  insensible  of  the  wonder- 
ful deliverance  which  she  had  experienced.  Her  father  was 
almost  equally  stupefied,  so  rapid  and  unexpected  had  been  the 
transition  from  the  horrid  death  which  seemed  inevitable,  to 
perfect  security.  He  gazed  on  the  animal,  terrible  even  in 
death,  with  a  si>ecies  of  mute  and  confused  astonishment,  which 
did  not  permit  him  distinctly  to  understand  what  had  taken 
place  ;  and  so  inaccurate  was  his  consciousness  of  what  had 
passed,  he  might  have  supposed  the  bull  to  have  been  arrested 
in  its  career  by  a  thunderbolt,  had  he  not  observed  among  the 
branches  of  the  thicket  the  figure  of  a  man,  with  a  short  gun  or 
musquetoon  in  his  hand. 

This  instantly  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  their  situation- 
glance  at  his  daughter  reminded  him  of  the  necessity  of  procur- 
ing her  assistance.  He  called  to  the  man,  whom  he  concluded 
to  be  one  of  his  foresters,  to  give  immediate  attention  to  Miss 
Ashton,  while  he  himself  hastened  to  call  assistance.  The 
huntsman  approached  them  accordingly,  and  the  Lord  Keeper 
.•;aw  he  was  a  stranger,  but  was  too  much  agitated  to  make  any 
turther  remarks.  In  a  few  hurried  words,  he  directed  the 
shooter,  as  stronger  and  more  active  than  himself,  to  carry  the 
young  lady  to  a  neighboring  fountain,  while  he  went  back  to 
Alice's  hut  to  procure  more  aid. 

The  man  to  whose  timely  interference  they  had  been  so 
much  indebted,  did  not  seem  inclined  to  leave  his  good  work 
half  finished.  He  raised  Lucy  from  the  ground  in  his  arms, 
and  conveying  her  through  the  glades  of  the  forest  by  paths 
with  which  he  seemed  well  acquainted,  stopped  not  until  he  laid 
her  in  safety  by  the  side  of  a  plentiful  and  pellucid  fountain, 
which  had  been  once  covered  in,  screened  and  decorated  with 
^c^.T4*ctural  ornaments  of  a  Gothic  character.     But  now  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


27 


vault  which  had  covered  it  being  broken  down  and  riven,  and 
the  Gothic  font  ruined  and  demolished,  the  stream  burst  forth 
from  the  recess  of  the  earth  in  open  day,  and  winded  its  way 
among  the  brolcen  sculpture  and  moss-grown  stones  which  lay 
in  confusion  around  its  source. 

Tradition,  always  busy,  at  least  in  Scotland,  to  grace  with  a 
legendary  tale  a  spot  in  itself  interesting,  had  ascribed  a 
cause  of  peculiar  veneration  to  this  fountain.  A  beautiful 
young  lady  met  one  of  the  Lords  of  Ravenswood  while  hunting 
near  this  spot,  and  like  a  second  Egeria,  had  captivated  the  af- 
fections of  the  feudal  Numa.  They  met  frequently  afterwards, 
and  always  at  sunset,  the  charms  of  the  nymph's  mind  complet- 
ing the  conquest  which  her  beauty  had  begun,  and  the  mystery 
of  the  intrigue  adding  zest  to  both.  She  always  appeared  and 
disappeared  close  by  the  fountain,  with  which,  therefore  her 
lover  judged  she  had  some  inexplicable  connection.  She  placed 
certain  restrictions  on  their  intercourse,  which  also  savored 
of  mystery.  They  met  only  once  a  week — Friday  was  the  ap- 
pointed day — and  she  explained  to  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood, 
that  they  were  under  the  necessity  of  separating  so  soon  as  the 
bell  of  a  chapel,  belonging  to  a  hermitage  in  the  adjoining 
wood,  now  long  ruinous,  should  toll  the  hour  of  vespers.  In 
the  course  of  his  confession,  the  Baron  of  Ravenswood  intrusted 
the  hermit  with  the  secret  of  his  singular  amour,  and  Father 
Zachary  drew  the  necessary  and  obvious  consequence,  that  his 
patron  was  enveloped  in  the  toils  of  Satan,  and  in  danger  of 
destruction  both  to  body  and  soul.  He  urged  these  perils  to 
the  Baron  with  all  the  force  of  monkish  rhetoric,  and  described, 
in  the  most  frightful  colors,  the  real  character  and  person  of 
the  apparently  lovely  Naiad,  whom  he  hesitated  not  to  denounce 
as  a  limb  of  the  kingdom  of  darkness.  The  lover  listened  with 
obstinate  incredulity  ;  and  it  was  not  until  worn  out  by  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  anchoret,  that  he  consented  to  put  the  state  and 
condition  of  his  mistress  to  a  certain  trial,  and  for  that  purpose 
acquiesced  in  Zachary's  proposal,  that  on  their  next  interview 
the  vespers'  bell  should  be  rung  half-an-hour  later  than  usual. 
The  hermit  nmintained,  and  bucklered  his  opinion  bv  quotations 
from  Malleus  Malcficanan,  Sprengerus,  JRemigius*  and  other 
learned  demonologists,  that  the  Evil  One,  thus  seduced  to  remain 
behind  the  appointed  hour,  would  assume  her  true  shape,  and 
having  appeared  to  her  terrified  lover  as  a  fiend  of  hell,  would 
vanish  from  him  in  a  flash  of  sulphurous  lightning.  Raymond 
of  Ravenswood  acquiesced   in  the  experiment,  not  incurious 

♦  [See  the  Author's  Letters  on  Demonology.'i 


28  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

concerning  the  issue,  though  confident  it  would  disappoint  the 
expectations  of  the  hermit. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  lovers  met,  and  their  interview 
was  protracted  beyond  that  at  which  they  usually  parted,  by  the 
delay  of  the  priest  to  ring  his  usual  curfew.  No  change  took 
place  upon  the  nymph's  outward  form  ;  but  as  soon  as  the 
lengthening  shadows  made  her  aware  that  the  usual  hour  of  the 
vesperj'  chime  was  past,  she  tore  herself  from  her  lover's  arms 
with  a  shriek  of  despair,  bid  him  adieu  forever,  and  plunging 
into  the  fountain,  disappeared  from  his  eyes.  The  bubbles  oc- 
casioned by  her  descent  were  crimsoned  with  blood  as  they 
arose,  leaving  the  distracted  Baron  to  infer  that  his  ill-judged 
curiosity  had  occasioned  the  death  of  this  interesting  and  mys- 
terious being.  The  remorse  which  he  felt,  as  well  as  the  rec- 
collection  of  her  charms,  proved  the  penance  of  his  future  life, 
which  he  lost  in  the  battle  of  Flodden  not  many  months  after. 
But,  in  memory  of  his  Naiad,  he  had  previously  ornamented  the 
fountain  in  which  she  appeared  to  reside,  and  secured  its  waters 
from  profanation  or  pollution,  by  the  small  vaulted  building  of 
which  the  fragments  still  remained  scattered  around  it.  From 
this  period  the  house  of  Ravenswood  was  supposed  to  have 
dated  its  decay. 

Such  was  the  generally  received  legend,  which  some,  who 
would  seem  wiser  than  the  vulgar,  explained,  as  obscurely  in- 
timating the  fate  of  a  beautiful  maid  of  plebeian  rank,  the  mis- 
tress of  this  Raymond,  whom  he  slew  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  and 
whose  blood  was  mingled  with  the  waters  of  the  locked  fountain, 
as  it  was  commonly  called.  Others  imagined  that  the  tale  had 
a  more  remote  origin  in  the  ancient  heathen  mythology.  All  how- 
ever agreed,  that  the  spot  was  fatal  to  the  Ravenswood  family; 
and  that  to  drink  of  the  waters  of  the  well,  or  even  approach 
its  brink,  was  as  ominous  to  a  descendant  of  that  house,  as  for 
a  Grahame  to  wear  green,  a  Bruce  to  kill  a  spider,  or  a  St.  Clair 
■to  cross  the  Ord  on  a  Monday. 

It  was  on  this  ominous  spot  that  Lucy  Ashton  first  drew 
breath  after  her  long  and  almost  deadly  swoon.  Beautiful 
and  pale  as  the  fabulous  Naiad  in  the  last  agony  of  separation 
from  her  lover,  she  was  seated  so  as  to  rest  with  her  back 
against  a  part  of  the  ruined  wall,  while  her  mantle,  dripping 
with  the  water  which  her  protector  had  used  profusely  to  recall 
her  senses,  clung  to  her  slender  and  beautifully  proportioned 
form. 

The  first  moment  of  recollection  brought  to  her  mind  the 
danger  which  had  overpowered  her  senses — the  next  called  to 
remembrance  that  of  her  father.     She  looked  around — he  was 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


29 


nowhere  to  be  seen — "  My  father — my  father  ! "  was  all  that 
she  could  ejaculate. 

"  Sir  William  is  safe,"  answered  the  voice  of  a  stranger — • 
"  perfectly  safe,  and  will  be  with  you  instantly." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  t ''  exclaimed  Lucy — "  the  bull  was  close 
by  us — do  not  stop  me — I  must  go  to  seek  my  father." 

And  she  arose  with  that  purpose  ;  but  her  strength  was 
so  much  exhausted,  that,  far  from  possessing  the  power  to 
execute  her  purpose,  she  must  have  fallen  against  the  stone 
on  which  she  had  leant,  probably  not  without  sustaining  serious 
injury. 

The  stranger  was  so  near  to  her  that,  without  actually  suffer- 
ing her  to  fall,  he  could  not  avoid  catching  her  in  his  arms, 
which,  however,  he  did  with  a  momentary  reluctance,  very  un- 
usual when  youth  interposes  to  prevent  beauty  from  danger.  It 
seemed  as  if  her  weight,  slight  as  it  was,  proved  too  heavy  for 
her  young  and  athletic  assistant,  for  without  feeling  the  temp- 
tation of  detaining  her  in  his  arms  ever  for  a  single  instant, 
he  again  placed  her  on  the  stone  from  which  she  had  risen,  and 
retreating  a  few  steps,  repeated  hastily,  "  Sir  William  Ashton 
is  perfectly  safe,  and  will  be  here  instantly.  Do  not  make 
yourself  anxious  on  his  account — Fate  has  singularly  preserved 
him.  You,  madam,  are  exhausted,  and  must  not  think  of  rising 
unt'l  you  have  some  assistance  more  suitable  than  mine." 

Lucy,  whose  senses  were  by  this  time  more  effectually 
collected,  was  naturally  led  to  look  at  the  stranger  with  at- 
tention. There  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  which  should 
have  rendered  him  unwilling  to  offer  his  arm  to  a  young  lady 
who  required  support,  or  which  could  have  induced  her  to>  (A-fe/'^A^ 
refuse  his  assistance  •  and  she  could  not  help  thinking,  even  In  /"'"'' 
that  moment,  that  he  seemed  cold  and  reluctant  to  offer  it.  A 
shooting-dress  of  dark  cloth  intimated  the  rank  of  the  wearer, 
though  concealed  in  part  by  a  large  and  loose  cloak  of  a  dark 
brown  color.  A  Montero  cap  and  a  black  feather  drooped 
over  the  wearer's  brow,  and  partly  concealed  his  features,  which, 
so  far  as  seen,  were  dark,  regular,  and  full  of  majestic,  though 
somewhat  sullen,  expression.  Some  secret  sorrow,  or  the  brood- 
ing spirit  of  some  moody  passion,  had  quenched  the  light  and  in- 
genuous vivacity  of  youth  in  a  countenance  singularly  fitted  to 
display  both,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  gaze  on  the  stranger  with- 
out a  secret  impression  either  of  pity  or  awe,  or  at  least  of  doubt 
and  curiosity  allied  to  both. 

The  impression  which  we  have  necessarily  been  long  in  de- 
scribing, Lucy  felt  in  the  glance  of  a  moment,  and  had  no  soonei 
ppcountered  the  keen  black  eyes  of  the  stranger,  than  her  own 


30 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


were  bent  on  the  ground  with  a  mixture  of  bashful  embarrass 
ment  and  fear.  Yet  there  was  a  necessity  to  speak,  at  least 
she  thought  so,  and  in  a  fluttered  accent  she  began  to  mention 
her  wonderful  escape,  in  which  she  was  sure  that  the  stranger 
must,  under  Heaven,  have  been  her  father's  protector,  and  her 
own. 

He  seemed  to  shrink  from  her  expressions  of  gratitude, 
while  he  replied  abruptly,  "  I  leave  you,  madam," — the  deep 
melody  of  his  voice  rendered  powerful,  but  not  harsh,  by  some- 
thing like  a  severity  of  tone — "  I  leave  you  to  the  protection 
of  those  to  whom  it  is  possible  you  may  have  this  day  been  a 
guardian  angel." 

Lucy  was  surprised  at  the  ambiguity  of  his  language,  and  with 
a  feeling  of  artless  and  unaffected  gratitude,  began  to  deprecate 
the  idea  of  having  intended  to  give  her  deliverer  any  offence, 
as  if  such  a  thing  had  been  possible.  "  I  have  been  unfortunate," 
she  said,  "  in  endeavoring  to  express  my  thanks  — I  am  sure 
it  must  be  so,  though  I  cannot  recollect  what  I  said — but  would 
you  but  stay  till  my  father — till  the  Lord  Keeper  comes — would 
you  only  permit  him  to  pay  you  his  thanks,  and  to  inquire 
your  name." 

"  My  name  is  unnecessar).',"  answered  the  stranger ;  "  your 
father — I  would  rather  say  Sir  William  Ashton — will  learn  it 
soon  enough,  for  all  the  pleasure  it  is  likely  to  afford  him." 

"  You  mistake  him,"  said  Lucy,  earnestly  ;  "he  will  be  grate- 
ful for  my  sake  and  for  his  own.  You  do  not  know  my  father, 
or  you  are  deceiving  me  with  a  story  of  his  safety,  when  he  has 
already  fallen  a  victim  to  the  fury  of  that  animal." 

When  she  had  caught  this  idea,  she  started  from  the  ground, 
and  endeavored  to  press  toward  the  avenue  in  which  the  acci- 
dent had  taken  place,  while  the  stranger,  though  he  seemed  to 
hesitate  between  the  desire  to  assist  and  the  wish  to  leave  her, 
was  obliged,  in  common  humanity,  to  oppose  her  both  by  en- 
treaty and  action. 

"  On  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  madam,  I  tell  you  the  truth  ; 
youT  father  is  in  perfect  safety  ;  you  will  expose  yourself  to  in- 
jury if  you  venture  back  where  the  herd  of  wild  cattle  grazed. 
—  If  you  will  go" — for,  having  once  adopted  the  idea  that  hei 
father  was  still  in  danger,  she  pressed  forward  in  spite  of  hira 
— "  If  5'ou  will  go,  accept  my  arm,  though  I  am  not  perhaps  the 
person  who  can  with  most  propriety  offer  you  support." 

But,  without  heeding  this  intimation,  Lucy  took  him  at  his 
word.  "  O,  if  you  be  a  man,"  she  said, — "  if  you  be  a  gentle- 
wian,  assist  nae  to  find  my  father  I     You  shall  not  leave  me — 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


3« 


you  must  go  with  me — he  is  dying  perhaps  while  we  are  talking 
here !  " 

Then,  without  listening  to  excuse  or  apology,  and  holding 
fast  by  the  stranger's  arm,  though  unconscious  of  anything  save 
the  support  which  it  gave,  and  without  which  she  could  not 
have  moved,  mixed  with  a  vague  feeling  of  preventing  his 
escape  from  her,  she  was  urging,  and  almost  dragging  him 
forward,  when  Sir  William  Ashton  came  up,  followed  by  the 
female  attendant  of  blind  Alice,  and  by  two  wood-cutters,  whom 
he  had  summoned  from  their  occupation  to  his  assistance.  His 
joy  at  seeing  his  daughter  safe,  overcame  the  surprise  with  which 
he  would  at  another  time  have  beheld  her  hanging  as  familiarly 
on  the  arm  of  a  stranger,  as  she  might  have  done  upon  his 
own. 

"  Lucy,  my  dear  Lucy,  are  you  safe  ? — are  you  well  ?"  were 
the  only  words  that  broke  from  him  as  he  embraced  her  in 
ecstasy. 

"  I  am  well,  sir,  thank  God  !  and  still  more  that  I  see  you 
so  ; — but  this  gentleman,"  she  said,  quitting  his  arm,  and  shrink- 
ing from  him,  "  what  must  he  think  of  me  ?  "  and  her  eloquent 
blood,  flushing  over  neck  and  brow,  spoke  how  much  she  was 
ashamed  of  the  freedom  with  which  she  had  craved,  and  even 
compelled,  his  assistance. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  "  will,  I  trust, 
not  regret  the  trouble  we  have  given  him,  when  I  assure  him  of 
the  gratitude  of  the  Lord  Keeper  for  the  greatest  service  which 
one  man  ever  rendered  to  another — for  the  life  of  my  child — 
for  my  own  life,  which  he  has  saved  by  his  bravery  and  presence 
of  mind.     He  will,  I  am  sure,  permit  us  to  request" 

"  Request  nothing  of  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a 
stern  and  peremptory  tone  ;  "  I  am  the  Master  of  Ravenswood." 

There  was  a  dead  pause  of  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  less 
pleasant  feelings.  The  Master  wrapt  himself  in  his  cloak,  made 
a  haughty  inclination  toward  Lucy,  muttering  a  few  words  of 
courtesy,  as  indistinctly  heard  as  they  seemed  to  be  reluctantly 
uttered,  and,  turning  from  them,  was  immediately  lost  in  the 
thicket. 

"  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  !  "  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  when 
he  had  recovered  his  momentary  astonishment — "  Hasten  after 
him — stop  him — beg  him  to  speak  to  me  for  a  single  moment." 

The  two  foresters  accordingly  set  off  in  pursuit  of  the 
stranger.  They  speedily  reappeared,  and  in  an  embarrassed  and 
awkward  manner,  said  the  gentleman  would  not  return.  The 
I^ord  Keeper  took  one  of  the  fellows  aside,  and  questioned  him 
more  closely  what  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  said. 


32 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


"  He  just  said  he  wadna  come  back,"  said  the  man,  with  the 

caution  of  a  prudent  Scotsman,  who  cared  not  to  be  the  bearei 
of  an  unpleasant  errand. 

"  He  said  something  more,  sir,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  and 
I  insist  on  knowing  what  it  was." 

"  Why,  then,  my  lord,"  said  the  man,  looking  down,  'he 
said — But  it  wad  be  nae  pleasure  to  your  lordship  to  hear  it,  for 
I  dare  say  the  Master  meant  nae  ill." 

"  That's  none  of  your  concern,  sir  ;  I  desire  to  hear  the  very 
words." 

"  Weel,  then,"  replied  the  man,  "  he  said,  Tell  Sir  William 
Ashton,  that  the  next  time  he  and  I  foregather,  he  will  not  be 
half  sae  blithe  of  our  meeting  as  of  our  parting." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper  ;  "  I  believe  he  alludes 
to  a  wager  we  have  on  our  hawks — it  is  a  matter  of  no  con- 
sequence." 

He  turned  to  his  daughter,  who  was  by  this  time  so  much 
recovered  as  to  be  able  to  walk  home.  But  the  effect  which 
the  various  recollections,  connected  with  a  scene  so  terrific, 
made  upon  a  mind  which  was  susceptible  in  an  extreme  degree, 
was  more  permanent  than  the  injury  which  her  nerves  had 
sustained.  Visions  of  terror,  both  in  sleep  and  in  waking 
reveries,  recalled  to  her  the  form  of  the  furious  animal,  and 
the  dreadful  bellow  with  which  he  accompanied  his  career; 
and  it  was  always  the  image  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  with 
his  native  nobleness  of  countenance  and  form,  that  seemed  to 
interpose  betwixt  her  and  assured  death.  It  is,  perhaps,  at  all 
times  dangerous  for  a  young  person  to  suffer  recollection  to 
dwell  repeatedly,  and  with  too  much  complacency,  on  the  same 
individual  ;  but  in  Lucy's  situation  it  was  almost  unavoidable. 
She  had  never  happened  to  see  a  young  man  of  mien  and  fea- 
tures so  romantic  and  so  striking  as  young  Ravenswood  ;  but 
had  she  seen  a  hundred  his  equals  or  his  superiors  in  those 
particulars,  no  one  else  could  have  been  linked  to  lier  heart  by 
the  strong  associations  of  remembered  danger  and  escape,  of 
gratitude,  wonder,  and  curiosity.  I  say  curiosity,  for  it  is  likely 
that  the  singularly  restrained  and  unaccommodating  manners 
of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  so  much  at  variance  with  the 
natural  expression  of  his  features  and  grace  of  his  deportment, 
as  they  excited  wonder  by  the  contrast,  had  their  effect  in 
riveting  hor  attention  to  the  recollection.  She  knew  little  of 
Ravenswood,  or  the  disputes  which  had  existed  betwixt  her 
father  and  his,  and  perhaps  could  in  her  gentleness  of  mind 
hardly  have  comprehended  the  angry  and  bitter  passions  which 
they  had  engendered.     But  she  knew  that  he  was  come  of  noble 


TBE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


33 


stem ;  was  poor,  though  descended  from  the  noble  and  the 
wealthy ;  and  bhe  felt  that  she  could  sympathize  with  the  feel- 
ings of  a  proud  mind,  which  urged  him  to  recoil  from  the 
proffered  gratitude  of  the  new  proprietors  of  his  father's  house 
and  domains.  Would  he  have  equally  shunned  their  acknowl- 
edgments and  avoided  their  intimacy,  had  her  father's  request 
been  urged  more  mildly,  less  abruptly,  and  softened  with  the 
grace  which  women  so  well  know  how  to  throw  into  their 
manner,  when  they  mean  to  mediate  betwixt  the  headlong 
passions  of  the  ruder  sex  ?  This  was  a  perilous  question  to 
ask  her  own  mind — perilous  both  in  the  idea  and  in  its  con- 
sequences. 

Lucy  Ashton,  in  short,  was  involved  in  those  mazes  of  the 
imagination  which  are  most  dangerous  to  the  young  and  the 
sensitive.  Time,  it  is  true,  absence,  change  of  scene  and  new 
faces,  might  probably  have  destroyed  the  illusion  in  her  instance 
as  it  has  done  in  many  others ;  but  her  residence  remained 
solitary,  and  her  mind  without  those  means  of  dissipating  her 
pleasing  visions.  This  solitude  was  chieily  owing  to  the  absence 
of  Lady  Ashton,  who  was  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh,  watching 
the  progress  of  some  state  intrigue ;  the  Lord  Keeper  only 
received  society  out  of  policy  or  ostentation,  and  was  by  nature 
rather  reserved  and  unsociable  ;  and  thus  no  cavalier  appeared 
to  rival  or  to  obscure  the  ideal  picture  of  chivalrous  excellence 
which  Lucy  had  pictured  to  herself  in  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

While  Lucy  indulged  in  these  dreams,  she  made  frequent 
visits  to  old  blind  Alice,  hoping  it  would  be  easy  to  lead  her  to 
talk  on  the  subject,  which  at  present  she  had  so  imprudently 
admitted  to  occupy  so  large  a  portion  of  her  thoughts.  But 
Alice  did  not  in  this  particular  gratify  her  wishes  and  expecta- 
tions. She  spoke  readily,  and  with  pathetic  feeling,  concerning 
the  family  in  general,  but  seemed  to  observe  an  especial  and 
cautious  silence  on  the  subject  of  the  present  representative. 
The  little  she  said  of  him  was  not  altogether  so  favorable  as 
Lucy  had  anticipated.  She  hinted  that  he  was  of  a  stern  and 
unforgiving  character,  more  ready  to  resent  than  to  pardon 
injuries  ;  and  Lucy  combined  with  great  alarm  the  hints  which 
she  now  dropped  of  these  dangerous  qualities,  with  Alice's 
advice  to  her  father,  so  emphatically  given,  "  to  beware  of 
Ravenswood." 

But  that  very  Ravenswood,  of  whom  such  unjust  suspicions 
had  been  entertained,  had,  almost  immediately  after  they  had 
been  uttered,  confuted  them,  by  saving  at  once  her  father's  life 
and  her  own.  Had  he  nourished  such  black  revenge  as  Alice's 
dark   hints   seemed  to   indicate,  no   deed  of  active  guilt  was 


34 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


necessary  to  the  full  gratification  of  that  evil  passion.  He 
needed  but  to  have  withheld  for  an  instant  his  indispensable 
and  effective  assistance,  and  the  object  of  his  resentment  must 
have  perished,  without  any  direct  aggression  on  his  part,  by  a 
death  equally  fearful  and  certain.  She  conceived,  therefore, 
that  some  secret  prejudice,  or  the  suspicions  incident  to  age  and 
misfortune,  had  led  Alice  to  form  conclusions  injurious  to  the 
character,  and  irreconcilable  both  with  the  generous  conduct 
and  noble  features  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  And  in  this 
belief  Lucy  reposed  her  hope,  and  went  on  weaving  her  enchanted 
web  of  fairy  -tissue,  as  beautiful  and  transient  as  the  film  of  the 
gossamer,  when  it  is  pearled  with  the  morning  dew  and  glim- 
mering to  the  sun. 

Her  father,  in  the  meanwhile,  as  well  as  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  were  making  reflections,  as  frequent  though  more 
solid  than  those  of  Lucy,  upon  the  singular  event  which 
had  taken  place.  The  Lord  Keeper's  first  task,  when  he  re- 
turned home,  was  to  ascertain  by  medical  advice  that  his  daugh- 
ter had  sustained  no  injury  from  the  dangerous  and  alarming 
situation  in  which  she  had  been  placed.  Satisfied  on  this  topic, 
he  proceeded  to  revise  the  memoranda  which  he  had  taken 
down  from  the  mouth  of  the  person  employed  to  interrupt  the 
funeral  service  of  the  late  Lord  Ravenswood.  Bred  to  casuis- 
try, and  well  accustomed  to  practice  the  ambidexter  ingenuity 
of  the  bar,  it  cost  him  little  trouble  to  soften  the  features  of  the 
tumult  which  he  had  been  at  first  so  anxious  to  exaggerate. 
He  preached  to  his  colleagues  of  the  Privy  Council  the  necessity 
of  using  conciliatory  measures  with  young  men,  whose  blood 
and  temper  were  hot,  and  their  experience  of  life  limited.  He 
did  not  hesitate  to  attribute  some  censure  to  the  conduct  of  the 
officer,  as  having  been  unnecessarily  irritating. 

These  were  the  contents  of  his  public  despatches.  The 
letters  which  he  wrote  to  those  private  friends  into  whose  man- 
agement the  matter  was  likely  to  fall,  were  of  a  yet  more  favor- 
able tenor.  He  represented  that  lenity  in  this  case  would  be 
equally  politic  and  popular,  whereas,  considering  the  high  respect 
with  which  the  rites  of  interment  are  regarded  in  Scotland, 
any  severity  exercised  against  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  for 
protecting  those  of  his  father  from  interruption,  would  be  on 
all  sides  most  unfavorably  construed.  And,  finally,  assuming 
the  language  of  a  generous  and  high-spirited  man,  he  made  it 
his  particular  request,  that  this  affair  should  be  passed  over 
without  severe  notice.  He  alluded  with  delicacy  to  the  predic- 
ament in  which  he  himself  stood  with  young  Ravenswood,  as 
having  succeeded  in  the  long  train  of  litigation  by  which  the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  35 

fortunes  of  that  noble  house  had  been  so  much  reduced,  and 
confessed  it  would  be  most  peculiarly  acceptable  to  his  feelings 
could  he  find  means  in  some  sort  to  counterbalance  the  disad 
vantages  which  he  occasioned  the  family,  though  only  in  the 
prosecution  of  his  just  and  lawful  rights.  He  therefore  made 
it  his  particular  and  personal  request  that  the  matter  should 
have  no  further  consequences,  and  insinuated  a  desire  that  he 
himself  should  have  the  merit  of  having  put  a  stop  to  it  by  his 
favorable  report  and  intercession.  It  was  particularly  remark- 
able, that,  contrary  to  his  uniform  practice,  he  made  no  special 
communication  to  Lady  Ashton  upon  the  subject  of  the  tumult; 
and  although  he  mentioned  the  alarm  which  Lucy  had  received 
from  one  of  the  wild  cattle,  yet  he  gave  no  detailed  account 
of  an  incident  so  interesting  and  terrible. 

There  was  much  surprise  among  Sir  William  Ashton's  polit- 
ical friends  and  colleagues  on  receiving  letters  of  a  tenor  so 
unexpected.  On  comparing  notes  together,  one  smiled,  one  put 
up  his  eyebrows,  a  third  nodded  acquiescence  in  the  general 
wonder,  and  a  fourth  asked,  if  they  were  sure  these  were  all 
the  letters  the  Lord  Keeper  had  written  on  the  subject.  "  It 
runs  strangely  in  my  mind,  my  lords,  that  none  of  these  advices 
contain  the  root  of  the  matter." 

But  no  secret  letters  of  a  contrary  nature  had  been  received, 
although  the  questions  seemed  to  imply  the  possibility  of  their 
existence. 

"  Well,"  said  an  old  gray-headed  statesman,  who  had  con- 
trived, by  shifting  and  trimming,  to  maintain  his  post  at  the 
steerage  through  all  the  changes  of  course  which  the  vessel 
had  held  for  thirty  years,  "  I  thought  Sir  William  would  hae 
verified  the  auld  Scottish  saying,  ^.As  soon  comes  the  lamb's 
skin  to  market  as  the  auld  tup's'.  ^\ 

"  We  must  please  him  after  his  own  fashion,"  said  another, 
*'  thoughit  be  an  unlooked-for  one." 

"  A  wilful  man  maun  hae  his  way,"  answered  the  old  coun- 
sellor, 

"  The  Keeper  will  rue  this  before  year  and  day  are  out," 
said  a  third ;  "  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  is  the  lad  to  wind 
him  a  pirn."* 

"Why,  what  would  you  do,  my  lords,  with  the  poor  young 
fellow  ?  "  said  a  noble  Marquis  present ;  "  the  Lord  Keeper  has 
got  all  his  estates — he  has  not  a  cross  to  bless  himself  with. " 

On  which  the  ancient  Lord  Turntippet  replied, 

*  Wind  him  a  pirn  (reel),  proverbial  for  preparing  a  troublesome  busfr 
nesi  for  some  person. 


36  THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

*  If  he  hfisna  gear  to  fine, 
He  has  shins  to  pine — 

And  that  was  our  way  before  the  Revolution — Luitur  cum 
persona,  qii  hiere  non  potest  cum  cnimena* — Hegh,  my  lords, 
that's  gude  law  Latin." 

"  I  can  see  no  motive,"  replied  the  Marquis,  "  that  any  noble 
lord  can  have  for  urging  this  matter  further ;  let  the  Lord 
Keeper  have  the  power  to  deal  in  it  as  he  pleases." 

''  Agree,  agree — remit  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  with  any  other 
person  for  fashion's  sake — Lord  Hirplehooly,  who  is  bed-ridden 
— one  to  be  a  quorum — Make  your  entry  in  the  minutes,  Mr. 
Clerk — and  now,  my  lords,  there  is  that  young  scattergood,  the 
Laird  of  Bucklaw's  fine  to  be  disponed  upon — I  suppose  it  goes 
to  my  Lord  Treasurer  t  " 

"  Shame  be  in  my  meal-poke,  then,"  exclaimed  Lord  Turn- 
tippet;  "  and  your  hand  aye  in  the  nook  of  it !  I  had  set  that 
down  for  a  by  bit  between  meals  for  mysell." 

"  To  use  one  of  your  favorite  saws,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
Marquis,  "  you  are  like  the  miller's  dog,  that  licks  his  lips  before 
the  bag  is  untied — the  man  is  not  fined  yet." 

"  But  that  costs  but  twa  skarts  of  a  pen,"  said  Lord  Turn- 
tippet ;  "and  surely  there  is  nae  noble  lord  that  will  presume 
to  say,  that  I,  who  hae  complied  wi'  a'  compliances,  taen  all 
manner  of  tests,  abjured  all  that  was  to  be  abjured,  and  sworn 
a'  that  was  to  be  sworn,  for  these  thirty  years  bypast,  sticking 
fast  by  my  duty  to  the  state  through  good  report  and  bad  re- 
port, shouldna  hae  something  now  and  then  to  synd  my  mouth 
wi'  after  sic  drouthy  wark  ?     Eh  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  very  unreasonable  indeed,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
Marquis,  "had  we  either  thought  that  your  lordship's  drought 
was  quenchdblc,  or  observed  anything  stick  in  your  throat  that 
required  waehing  down." 

And  so  we  close  the  scene  on  the  Privy  Council  of  that 
period, 

*  i,  t.  Let  him  pay  with  his  person  who  cannot  pay  with  his  purse. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  3^ 


CHAPTER  FIFTH. 

For  this  are  all  these  warriors  come, 

To  hear  an  idle  tale  ; 
And  o'er  our  death-accustom'd  arms 

Shall  silly  tears  prevail  ? 

Henry  Mackenzie. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  Lord  Keeper  and  his 
daughter  were  saved  from  such  imminent  peril,  two  strangers 
were  seated  in  the  most  private  apartment  of  a  small  obscure 
inn,  or  rather  ale-house,  called  the  Tod's  Den,  about  three  or 
four  miles  from  the  Castle  of  Ravenswood,  and  as  far  from  the 
ruinous  tower  of  Wolf's  Crag,  betwixt  which  two  places  it  was 
situated. 

One  of  these  strangers  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  tall,  and 
thin  in  the  flanks,  with  an  aquiline  nose,  dark  penetrating  eyes, 
and  a  shrewd  but  sinister  cast  of  countenance.  The  other 
was  about  fifteen  years  younger,  short,  stout,  ruddy-faced,  and 
red-haired,  with  an  open,  resolute,  and  cheerful  eye,  to  which 
careless  and  fearless  freedom,  and  inward  daring,  gave  fire  and 
expression,  notwithstanding  its  light  gray  color.  A  stoup  of 
wine  (for  in  those  days  it  was  served  out  from  the  cask  in 
pewter  flagons)  was  placed  on  the  table,  and  each  had  his  quaigh 
or  bicker*  before  him.  But  there  was  little  appearance  of 
conviviality.  With  folded  arms,  and  looks  of  anxious  expecta- 
tion, they  eyed  each  other  in  silence,  each  wrapt  in  his  own 
thoughts,  and  holding  no  communication  with  his  neighbor. 

At  length  the  younger  broke  silence  by  exclaiming,  "  What 
the  foul  fiend  can  detain  the  Master  so  long?  he  must  have 
miscarried  in  his  enterprise. — Why  did  you  dissuade  me  from 
going  with  him  ?  " 

"  One  man  is  enough  to  right  his  own  wrong,"  said  the  taller 
and  older  personage ;  "  we  venture  our  lives  for  him  in  coming 
ihus  far  on  such  an  errand." 

"You  are  but  a  craven  after  all,  Craigengelt,"  answered  the 
younger,  "and  that's  what  many  folk  have  thought  you  before 
now." 

"  But  what  none  has  dared  to  tell  me,"  said  Craigengelt,  lay- 

*  Drinking  cups  of  different  sizes,  made  out  of  staves  hooped  together. 
The  q?w?^/4  was  used  chiefly  for  drinking  wine  or  brandy:  it  might  hold 
about  a  gill,  and  was  often  composed  r^  r.^re  wood,  and  curiously  ornac 
tuented  with  silver. 


,g  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

ing  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword  ;  "  and,  but  that  I  hold  a 
hasty  man  no  better  than  a  fool,  I  would  " — he  paused  for  his 
companion's  answer. 

*'  Would  you  ? "  said  the  other  coolly ;  "  and  why  do  you 
not,  then  ?  " 

Craigengelt  drew  his  cutlass  an  inch  or  two,  and  then  re- 
turned it  wiih  violence  into  the  scabbard — "  Because  there  is  a 
deeper  stake  to  be  played  for,  than  the  lives  of  twenty  hare 
brain-ed  gowks  like  you." 

"  You  are  right  there,"  said  his  companion,  "for  if  it  were  not 
that  these  forfeitures,  and  that  last  fine  that  the  old  driveler 
Turntippet  is  gaping  for,  and  which,  I  daresay,  is  laid  on  by  this 
time,  have  fairly  driven  me  out  of  house  and  home,  I  were  a 
coxcomb  and  a  cuckoo  to  boot,  to  trust  your  fair  promises  of  get- 
ting me  a  commission  in  the  Irish  brigade, — what  have  I  to  do 
with  the  Irish  brigade  ?  I  am  a  plain  Scotsman  as  my  father 
was  before  me  :  and  my  grand-aunt.  Lady  Girnington,  cannot 
live  forever." 

"  Ay,  Bucklaw,"  observed  Craigengelt,  "  but  she  may  live  for 
many  a  long  day  ;  and  for  your  father,  he  had  land  and  living,  kept 
himself  close  from  wadsetters  and  money-lenders,  paid  each  man 
his  due,  and  lived  on  his  own." 

"  And  whose  fault  is  it  that  I  have  not  done  so  too  ?  "  said 
Bucklaw — "  whose  but  the  devil's  and  yours,  and  such  like  as  you, 
that  have  led  me  to  the  far  end  of  a  fair  estate  .''  and  now  I  shall 
be  obliged,  I  suppose,  to  shelter  and  shift  about  like  yourself — • 
live  one  week  upon  a  line  of  secret  intelligence  from  Saint  Ger- 
mains — another  upon  report  of  a  rising  in  the  Highlands — get 
my  breakfast  and  morning-draught  of  sack  from  old  Jacobite 
ladies,  and  give  them  locks  of  my  old  wig  for  the  Chevalier's 
hair — second  my  friend  in  his  quarrel  till  he  comes  to  the  field, 
and  then  flinch  from  him  lest  so  important  a  political  agent 
should  perish  from  the  way.  All  this  I  must  do  for  bread,  be- 
•  sides  calling  myself  a  Captain  !  " 

"You  think  you  are  making  a  fine  speech  now,"  said  Craig- 
engelt, "  and  showing  much  wit  at  my  expense.  Is  starving 
or  hanging  better  than  the  life  1  am  obliged  to  lead,  because 
the  present  fortunes  of  the  king  cannot  sufficiently  support 
his  envoys  ? " 

"  Starving  is  honester,  Craigengelt,  and  hanging  is  like  to 
be  the  end  on't — But  what  you  mean  to  make  of  this  poor  fel- 
low Ravenswood  I  know  not — he  has  no  money  left,  anymore 
than  I — his  lands  are  all  pawned  and  pledged,  and  the  interest 
eats  up  the  rents  and  is  not  satisfied,  and  what  do  you  hope  to 
make  by  meddling  in  his  affairs  ? " 


I 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  jg 

"  Content  yourself,  Bucklaw ;  I  know  my  business,"  re- 
plied Craigengelt.  "  Besides  that  his  name,  and  his  father's 
services  in  1689,  will  make  such  an  acquisition  sound  well 
both  at  Versailles  and  Saint  Germains — you  will  also  please  be 
informed,  that  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  is  a  very  different 
kind  of  young  fellow  from  you.  He  has  parts  and  address,  as 
well  as  courage  and  talents,  and  will  present  himself  abroad  like 
a  young  man  of  head  as  well  as  heart,  who  knows  something 
more  than  the  speed  of  a  horse  or  the  flight  of  a  hawk.  I  have 
lost  credit  of  late,  by  bringing  over  no  one  that  had  sense  to 
know  more  than  how  to  unharbor  a  stag,  or  take  and  reclaim 
an  eyess.    The  Master  has  education,  sense,  and  penetration." 

"  And  yet  is  not  wise  enough  to  escape  the  tricks  of  a  kid- 
napper, Craigengelt !  "  replied  the  younger  man.  "  But  don't  be 
angry ;  you  know  you  will  not  fight,  and  so  it  is  as  well  to  leave 
your  hilt  in  peace  and  quiet,  and  tell  me  in  sober  guise  how 
you  drew  the  Master  into  your  confidence  .''  " 

"  By  flattering  his  love  of  vengeance,  Bucklaw,"  an- 
swered Craigengelt.  "  He  has  always  distrusted  me,  but  I 
watched  my  time,  and  struck  while  his  temper  was  red-hot  with 
the  sense  of  insult  and  of  wrong.  He  goes  now  to  expostulate, 
as  he  says,  and  perhaps  thinks,  with  Sir  William  Ashton.  I 
say  that  if  they  meet,  and  the  lawyer  puts  him  to  his  defence, 
the  Master  will  kill  him  ;  for  he  had  that  sparkle  in  his  eye 
which  never  deceives  you  when  you  would  read  a  man's  pur- 
pose. At  any  rate,  he  will  give  him  such  a  bullying  as  will  be 
construed  into  an  assault  on  a  privy-councillor ;  so  there  will 
be  a  total  breach  betwixt  him  and  government ;  Scotland  will  be 
too  hot  for  him,  France  will  gain  him,  and  we  will  all  set  sail 
together  in  the  French  brig  L'Espoir,  which  is  hovering  for  us 
off  Eyemouth." 

"  Content  am  I,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  Scotland  has  little  left  that 
I  care  about;  and  if  carrying  the  Master  with  us  will  get  us  a 
better  reception  in  France,  why,  so  be  it,  a  God's  name.  I 
doubt  our  own  merits  will  procure  us  slender  preferment ;  and 
I  trust  he  will  send  a  ball  through  the  Keeper's  head  before  he 
joins  us.  One  or  two  of  these  scoundrel  statesmen  should  be 
shot  once  a-year,  just  to  keep  the  others  on  their  good  behavior." 

*•  That  is  very  true,"  replied  Craigengelt ;  and  it  reminds 
me  that  I  must  go  and  see  that  our  horses  have  been  fed,  and 
are  in  readiness  ;  for  should  such  deed  be  done,  it  will  be  no 
time  for  grass  to  grow  beneath  their  heels."  He  proceeded  as 
far  as  the  door,  then  turned  back  with  a  look  of  earnestness, 
and  said  to  Bucklaw,  "  Whatever  should  come  of  this  business, 
I  s,m  sure  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  remember,  that  I  said 


♦o 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


nothing  to  the  Master  which  could  imply  my  accession  to  anj 
act  of  violence  which  he  may  take  into  his  head  to  commit." 

"  No,  no,  not  a  single  word  like  accession,"  replied  Buck- 
law  ;  "  you  know  too  well  the  risk  belonging  to  these  two  terrible 
words,  art  and  part."  Then  as  if  to  himself,  he  recited  the 
following  lines  : — 

"  The  dial  spoke  not,  but  it  made  shrewd  signs, 
And  pointed  full  upon  the  stroke  of  murder." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  talking  to  yourself } "  said  Craigen- 
gelt,  turning  back  with  some  anxiety. 

''  Nothing — only  two  lines  I  have  heard  upon  the  stage," 
replied  his  companion. 

"  Bucklavv,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  I  sometimes  think  you 
should  have  been  a  stage  player  yourself ;  all  is  fancy  and 
frolic  with  you." 

"  I  have  often  thought  so  myself,"  said  Bucklaw.  "  I  be- 
lieve it  would  be  safer  than  acting  with  you  in  the  Fatal  Con- 
spiracy. But  away,  play  your  own  part,  and  look  after  the 
horses  like  a  groom  as  you  are.  A  play-actor — a  stage-player,' 
he  repeated  to  himself;  "  that  would  have  deserved  a  stab,  but 
that  Craigengelt's  a  coward — And  yet  I  should  like  the  pro- 
fession well  enough — Stay — let  me  see — ay — I  would  come 
out  in  Alexander — 

"  Thus  from  the  grave  I  rise  to  save  my  love. 
Draw  all  your  swords,  and  quick  as  lightning  move ; 
When  I  rush  on,  sure  none  will  dare  to  stay, 
'Tis  love  commands,  and  glory  leads  the  way.'" 

As  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  his  hand  upon  his  sword, 
Bucklaw  repeated  the  ranting  couplets  of  poor  Lee,  Craigen- 
gelt re-entered  with  a  face  of  alarm. 

*'  We  are  undone,  Bucklaw  !  the  Master's  led  horse  has  cast 
himself  over  his  halter  in  the  stable,  and  is  dead  lame — his 
hackney  will  be  set  up  with  the  day's  work,  and  now  he  has  no 
fresh  horse  ;  he  will  never  get  off." 

"  Egad,  there  will  be  no  moving  with  the  speed  of  lightning 
this  bout,"  said  Bucklaw,  dryly.  "  But  stay,  you  can  give  him 
yours." 

"  What !  and  be  taken  myself !  I  thank  you  for  the  pro- 
I^sal,"  said  Craigengelt. 

"  Why,"  replied  Bucklaw,  "  if  the  Lord  Keeper  should  have 
met  with  a  mischance,  which  for  my  part  I  cannot  suppose,  foi 
the  Master  is  not  the  lad  to  shoot  an  old  and  unarmed  m«n — 


THE  BTTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


41 


but  if  there  should  have  been  a  fray  at  the  Castle,  you  are 
neither  art  nor  part  in  it,  you  know,  so  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  True,  true,"  answered  the  other,  with  embarrassment ; 
"  but  consider  my  commission  from  Saint  Germains." 

"  Which  many  men  think  is  a  commission  of  your  own  mak- 
ing, noble  captain.  Well,  if  you  will  not  give  him  your  horse, 
why,  d — n  it,  he  must  have  mine." 

"Yours  .''  "  said  Craigengelt. 

"  Ay,  mine,"  repeated  Bucklaw ;  "  it  shall  never  be  said  that 
I  agreed  to  back  a  gentleman  in  a  little  affair  of  honor,  and 
neither  helped  him  on  with  it  nor  off  from  it." 

"  You  will  give  him  your  horse  .''  and  have  you  considered 
the  loss  ? " 

"  Loss  !  why.  Grey  Gilbert  cost  me  twenty  Jacobuses,  that's 
true  ;  but  then  his  hackney  is  worth  something,  and  his  Black 
Moor  is  worth  twice  as  much  were  he  sound,  and  I  know  how 
to  handle  him.  Take  a  fat  sucking  mastiff  whelp,  flay  and 
bowel  him,  stuff  the  body  full  of  black  and  grey  snails,  roast 
a  reasonable  time,  and  baste  with  oil  of  spikenard,  saffron, 
cinnamon  and  honey,  anoint  the  dripping,  working  it 
in" 

"  Yes,  Bucklaw,  but  in  the  meanwhile,  before  the  sprain  is 
cured,  nay,  before  the  whelp  is  roasted,  you  will  be  caught  and 
hung.  Depend  on  it,  the  chase  will  be  hard  after  Ravenswood. 
I  wish  we  had  made  our  place  of  rendezvous  nearer  to  the 
coast." 

"  On  my  faith,  then,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  I  had  best  go  off  just 
now,  and  leave  my  horse  for  him — Stay,  stay,  he  comes,  I  hear 
a  horse's  feet. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  only  one  ?  "  said  Craigengelt ;  "  I 
fear  there  is  a  chase  ;  I  think  I  hear  three  or  four  galloping  Xxy 
gether — I  am  sure  I  hear  more  horses  than  one." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  it  is  the  wench  of  the  house  clattering  to 
the  well  in  her  pattens.  By  my  faith.  Captain,  you  should  give 
up  both  your  captainship  and  your  secret  service,  for  you  are 
as  easily  scared  as  a  wild  goose.  But  here  comes  the  Maste; 
alone,  and  looking  as  gloomy  as  a  night  in  November." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  entered  the  room  accordingly, 
his  cloak  muffled  around  him,  his  arms  folded,  his  looks  stern, 
and  at  the  same  time  dejected.  He  flung  his  cloak  from  him 
as  he  entered,  threw  himself  upon  a  chair,  and  appeared  sunk 
in  a  profound  reverie. 

"  What  has  happened  .''  What  have  you  done  .-•  "  was  hastily 
demanded  by  Craigengelt  and  Bucklaw  in  the  same  moment, 

*'  NQthing,"  was  the  short  and  suUen  answer. 


4^  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"  Nothing  ?  and  left  us,  determined  to  call  the  old  villain  tO 
account  for  all  the  injur  cs  that  you,  we,  and  the  country  hav« 
received  at  his  hand  ?     Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

"  Seen  him  ?  and  come  away  without  settling  scores  which 
have  been  so  long  due  ?  "  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  I  would  not  have 
expected  that  at  the  hand  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood." 

"  No  matter  what  you  expected,"  replied  Ravenswood ;  "  it 
Is  not  to  you,  sir,  that  I  shall  be  disposed  to  render  any  reason 
for  my  conduct." 

"  Patience,  Bucklaw,"  said  Craigengelt,  interrupting  his 
companion,  who  seemed  about  to  make  an  angry  reply.  "  The 
Master  has  been  interrupted  in  his  purpose  by  some  accident ; 
but  he  must  excuse  the  anxious  curiosity  of  friends,  who  are 
devoted  to  his  cause  like  you  and  me." 

"  Friends,  Captain  Craigengelt  !  "  retorted  Ravenswood, 
haughtily;  "  I  am  ignorant  what  familiarity  has  passed  betwixt 
us  to  entitle  you  to  use  that  expression.  I  think  our  friendship 
amounts  to  this,  that  we  agreed  to  leave  Scotland  together  so 
soon  as  I  should  have  visited  the  alienated  mansion  of  my 
fathers,  and  had  an  interview  with  its  present  possessor — I  wiU 
not  call  him  proprietor." 

"  Very  true,  Master,"  answered  Bucklaw ;  "  and  as  we 
thought  you  had  a  mind  to  do  something  to  put  your  neck  in 
jeopardy,  Craigie  and  I  very  courteously  agreed  to  tarry  fox 
you,  although  ours  might  run  some  risk  in  consequence.  As 
to  Craigie,  indeed,  it  does  not  very  much  signify,  he  had  gal- 
lows written  on  his  brow  in  the  hour  of  his  birth  ;  but  I  should 
not  like  to  discredit  my  parentage  by  coming  to  such  an  end  in 
another  man's  cause." 

"  Gentlomen,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  I  am  sorry 
if  I  have  occasioned  you  any  inconvenience.  But  I  must  claim 
the  right  of  judging  what  is  best  for  my  own  afifairs,  without 
rendering  explanations  to  any  one.  I  have  altered  my  mind, 
and  do  not  design  to  leave  the  country  this  season." 

"  Not  to  leave  the  country,  Master,"  exclaimed  Craiger>- 
gelt.  "  Not  to  go  over,  after  all  the  trouble  and  expense  I  have 
incurred — after  all  the  risk  of  discovery,  and  the  expense  ol 
demurrage  !  " 

"Sir,"  replied  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  when  I  de- 
signed to  leave  this  country  in  this  haste,  I  made  use  of  your 
obliging  ofifer  to  procure  me  means  of  conveyance  ;  but  I  do 
not  recollect  that  I  pledged  myself  togoofif,  if  I  found  occasion 
to  alter  my  rrind.  For  your  trouble  on  my  account,  I  am  sorry, 
and  I  thank  you  \  your  expense,"  he  added,  putting  his  hand 


THE   BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ^■^ 

fnto  his  pocket,  "  admits  a  more  solid  compensation — freight 
and  demurrage  are  matters  with  wiiich  1  am  unacquainted, 
Captain  Craigengelt ;  but  take  my  purse,  and  pay  yourself 
according  to  your  own  conscience,"  And  accordingly  he  ten- 
dered a  purse  with  some  gold  in  it  to  the  soi-disant  captain. 

But  here  Bucklaw  interposed  in  his  turn.  "  Your  fingers, 
Craigie,  seem  to  itch  for  that  same  piece  of  green  net-work," 
said  he  ;  "  but  I  make  my  vow  to  God,  that  if  they  offer  to 
close  upon  it  I  will  chop  them  off  with  my  whinger.  Since  the 
Master  has  changed  his  mind,  I  suppose  we  need  stay  here  no 
longer  ;  but  in  the  first  place  I  beg  leave  to  tell  him" — 

"  Tell  him  anything  you  will,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  if  you  will 
first  allow  me  to  state  the  inconveniences  to  which  he  will  ex- 
pose himself  by  quitting  our  society,  to  remind  him  of  the  ob- 
stacles to  his  remaining  here,  and  of  the  difficulties  attending 
his  proper  introduction  at  Versailles  and  Saint  Germains  with- 
out the  countenance  of  those  who  have  established  useful  con- 
nections." 

"  Besides  forfeiting  the  friendship,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  of  at 
least  one  man  of  spirit  and  honor." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  permit  me  once  more  to 
assure  you  that  you  have  been  pleased  to  attach  to  our  tem- 
porary connection  more  importance  than  I  ever  meant  that  it 
should  have.  When  I  repair  to  foreign  courts,  I  shall  not  need 
the  introduction  of  an  intriguing  adventurer,  nor  is  it  necessary 
for  me  to  set  value  on  the  friendship  of  a  hot-headed  bully," 
With  these  words,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  left 
the  apartment,  remounted  his  horse,  and  was  heard  to  ride  off. 
"  Mortbleu  !  "  said  Captain  Craigengelt,  "  my  recruit  is  lost !  '' 
"  Ay,  Captain,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  the  salnion  is  off  with  hook 
and  all.  But  I  will  after  him,  for  I  have  had  more  of  his  in- 
solence than  I  can  well  digest." 

Craigengelt  offered  to  accompany  him,  but  Bucklaw  replied, 
'  No,  no,  Captain  ;  keep  you  the  cheek  of  the  chimney-nook  til! 
T  come  back ;  it's  good  sleeping  in  a  haill  skin. 

Little  kens  the  auid  wife  that  sits  by  the  fire. 
How  cauld  th«  wind  blaws  in  hurle-burle  swire." 

And,  singing  as  he  went,  he  left  the  apartment. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM ER  MOOR, 


CHAPTER  SIXTH. 

I  Now,  Billy  Bewick,  keep  good  heart, 

And  of  thy  talking  let  me  be  ; 
But  if  thou  art  a  man,  as  I  am  sure  thou  art, 
Come  over  the  dike  and  fight  with  me. 

Old  Ballad. 

The  Master  of  Ravensvvood  had  mounted  the  ambling  hack- 
ney which  he  before  rode  on  finding  the  accident  whith  had  hap- 
pened to  his  led  horse,  and,  for  the  animal's  ease  was  proceed- 
ing at  a  slow  pace  from  the  Tod's  Den  towards  his  old  tower  of 
Wolf's  Crag,  when  he  heard  the  galloping  of  a  horse  behind  him, 
and  looking  back,  perceived  that  he  was  pursued  by  young  Bcuk- 
law,  who  had  been  delayed  a  fewminutes  in  the  pursuit  by  the  irre- 
sistible temptation  of  giving  the  hostler  at  the  Tod's  Den  some 
recipe  for  treating  the  lame  horse.  This  brief  delay  he  had 
made  up  by  hard  galloping,  and  now  overtook  she  Master  where 
the  road  traversed  a  waste  moor.  "Halt,  sir  .'"cried  Bucklaw; 
*'  I  am  no  political  agent — no  Captain  Craigengelt,  whose  life  is 
too  important  to  be  hazarded  in  defence  of  his  honor.  I  am 
Frank  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  and  no  man  injures  me  by  word, 
deed,  sign,  or  look,  but  he  must  render  me  an  account  of  it." 

"  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,"  replied 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  in  a  tone  the  most  calm  and  indif- 
ferent ;  "  but  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  and  desire  to  have 
none.  Our  roads  homeward,  as  well  as  our  roads  through  life, 
lie  in  different  directions  ;  there  is  no  occasion  for  us  crossing 
each  other." 

"  Is  there  not  "i  "  said  Bucklaw,  impetuously.  "  By  Heaven  I 
but  I  say  that  there  is  though — you  call  us  intriguing  adven 
turers." 

"  Be  correct  in  your  recollection,  Mr.  Hayston  ;  it  was  to 
your  companion  only  I  applied  that  epithet,  and  you  know  him 
to  be  no  better." 

And  what  then  }  He  was  my  companion  for  the  time,  and 
no  man  shall  insult  my  companion,  right  or  wrong,  while  he  is 
in  my  company." 

"  Then  Mr.  Hayston,"  replied  Ravenswood,  with  the  same 
composure,  "  you  should  choose  your  society  better,  or  you  are 
like  to  have  much  work  in  your  capacity  of  their  champion. 
Go  home  sir,  sleep,  and  have  more  reason  in  your  wrath  to- 
morrow." 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


45 


•*  Not  so,  Master,  you  have  mistaken  your  man  ;  high  airs 
and  wise  saws  shall  not  carry  it  off  thus.  Besides,  you  termed 
me  bully,  and  you  shall  retract  the  word  before  we  part." 

"  Faith,  scarcely,"  said  Ravenswood,  "unless  you  show  me 
better  reason  for  thinking  myself  mistaken  than  you  are  now 
producing." 

"  Then,  Master,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  though  I  should  be  sorry 
to  offer  it  to  a  man  of  your  quality,  if  you  will  not  justify  your 
incivility,  or  retract  it,  or  name  a  place  of  meeting,  you  must 
here  vmdergo  the  hard  word  and  the  hard  blow." 

"  Neither  will  be  necessary,"  said  Ravenswood  :  "  I  am  satis- 
fied with  what  I  have  done  to  avoid  an  affair  with  you.  If  you 
are  serious,  this  place  will  serve  as  well  as  another." 

"  Dismount,  then,  and  draw,"  said  Bucklaw,  setting  him  an 
example.  "  I  always  thought  and  said  you  were  a  pretty  man  5 
I  should  be  sorry  to  report  you  otherwise." 

"  You  shall  have  no  reason,  sir,"  said  Ravenswood,  alighting 
and  putting  himself  into  a  posture  of  defence. 

Their  swords  crossed,  and  the  combat  commenced  with  great 
spirit  on  the  part  of  Bucklaw,  who  was  well  accustomed  to 
affairs  of  the  kind,  and  distinguished  by  address  and  dexterity 
at  his  weapon.  In  the  present  case,  however,  he  did  not  use 
his  skill  to  advantage  ;  for,  having  lost  temper  at  the  cool  and 
contemptuous  manner  in  which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
had  long  refused,  and  at  length  granted  him  satisfaction,  and 
urged  by  his  impatience,  he  adopted  the  part  of  an  assailant 
with  inconsiderate  eagerness.  The  Master,  with  equal  skill, 
and  much  greater  composure,  remained  chiefly  on  the  defensive, 
and  even  declined  to  avail  himself  of  one  or  two  advantages 
afforded  him  by  the  eagerness  of  his  adversarj'.  At  length  in 
a  desperate  lunge,  which  he  followed  with  an  attempt  to  close, 
Bucklaw's  foot  slipped,  and  he  fell  on  the  short  grassy  turf  on 
which  they  were  fighting.  "  Take  your  life,  sir,"  said  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  and  mend  it,  if  you  can." 

"  It  would  be  but  a  cobbled  piece  of  work,  I  fear,"  said  Buck- 
law,  rising  slowly,  and  gathering  up  his  sword,  much  less  dis- 
concerted with  the  issue  of  the  combat  than  could  have  been  ex- 
pected from  the  impetuosity  of  his  temper.  "I  thank  you  for 
my  life,  Master,"  he  pursued.  "There  is  my  hand,  I  bear  no 
ill  will  to  vou,  either  for  my  bad  luck  or  your  better  swordman 
ship." 

The  Master  looked  steadily  at  him  for  an  instant,  then  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  him. — "Bucklaw,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  gen- 
erous fellow,  and  I  have  done  you  wrong.  I  heartily  ask  youT 
pardon  for  the  expression  which  offended  you  j  it  wa.s  hastily 


46  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

and  incautiously  uttered,  and  I  am  convinced  it  is  totally  mis- 
applied." 

"  Are  you  indeed,  Master  ?  "  said  Bucklaw,  his  face  resuming 
at  once  its  natural  expression  of  light-hearted  carelessness  and 
audacity  ;  "  that  is  more  than  I  expected  of  you  ;  for,  Master, 
men  say  you  are  not  ready  to  retract  your  opinions  and  your 
language." 

"JSot  when  I  have  well  considered  them,"  said  the  Master. 

"  Then  you  are  a  little  wiser  than  I  am,  for  I  always  give  my 
friend  satisfaction  first  and  explanation  afterward.  If  one  of 
us  falls,  all  accounts  are  settled  ;  if  not,  men  are  never  so  ready 
for  peace  as  after  war. — But  what  does  that  bawling  brat  of  a 
boy  want .''  "  said  Bucklaw.  "  I  wish  to  Heaven  he  had  come  a 
few  minutes  sooner  !  and  yet  it  must  have  been  ended  some 
time  and  perhaps  this  way  is  as  well  as  any  other." 

As  he  spoke,  the  boy  he  mentioned  came  up,  cudgeling  an 
ass,  on  which  he  was  mounted,  to  the  top  of  its  speed,  and  send- 
ing, like  one  of  Ossian's  heroes,  his  voice  before  him, — "  Gentle- 
men,— gentlemen,  save  yourselves  !  for  the  gudewife  bade  us 
tell  ye  there  were  folk  in  her  house  had  taen  Captain  Craigen- 
gelt,  and  were  seeking  for  Bucklaw,  and  that  ye  behoved  to  ride 
for  it." 

"  By  my  faith,  and  that's  very  true,  my  man,"  said  Bucklaw,' 
"  and  there's  a  silver  sixpence  for  your  news,  and  1  would  give 
any  man  twice  as  much  would  tell  me  which  way  I  should  ride." 

"  That  will  I,  Bucklaw,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  ride  home  to 
Wolf's  Crag  with  me.  There  are  places  in  the  old  tower  where 
you  might  lie  hid  were  a  thousand   men  to  seek  you." 

"  But  that  will  bring  you  into  trouble  yourself.  Master  ;  and 
unless  you  be  in  the  Jacobite  scrape  already,  it  is  quite  needless 
for  me  to  drag  you  in." 

"  Not  a  whit  ;  I  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  Then  I  will  ride  with  you  blithely,  for,  to  say  the  truth,  1 
do  not  know  the  rendezvous  that  Craigie  was  to  guide  us  to  this 
night ;  and  I  am  sure  that,  if  he  is  taken,  he  will  tell  all  the  truth 
of  me,  and  twenty  lies  of  you,  in  order  to  save  himself  from  the 
withie." 

They  mounted,  and  rode  off  in  company  accordingly,  striking 
off  the  ordinary  road,  and  holding  their  way  by  wild  moorish  un- 
frequented paths,  with  which  the  gentlemen  were  well  acquainted 
from  the  exercise  of  the  chase,  but  through  which  others  would 
have  had  much  difficulty  in  tracing  their  course.  They  rode  fox 
some  time  in  silence,  making  such  haste  as  the  condition  of  Rav- 
enswood's  horse  permitted,  until  night  having  gradually  closed 
around  them,  they  discontinued  their  speed,  both  from  the  diffi- 


THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ^y 

culty  of  discovering  their  path,  and  from  the  hope  that  they  were 

beyond  the  reach  of  pursuit  or  observation. 

"  And  now  that  we  have  drawn  bridle  a  bit,"  said  Bucklaw, 
"  I  would  fain  ask  you  a  question,  Master." 

"  Ask,  and  welcome,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  but  forgive  my  not 
answering  it,  unless  I  think  proper." 

"  Well,  it  is  simply  this,"  answered  his  late  antagonist, — 
"  What,  in  the  name  of  old  Sathan,  could  make  you,  who  stand 
so  highly  on  your  reputation,  think  for  a  moment  of  drawing  up 
■with  such  a  rogue  as  Craigengelt,  and  such  a  scapegrace  as  folk 
call  Bucklaw  ?  " 

"  Simply,  because  I  was  desperate,  and  sought  desperate 
associates." 

"  And  what  made  you  break  off  from  us  at  the  nearest  ?  " 
again  demanded  Bucklaw. 

"  Because  I  had  changed  my  mind,"  said  the  Master,  "  and 
renounced  my  enterprise,  at  least  for  the  present.  And  now  that 
I  have  answered  your  questions  fairly  and  frankly,  tell  me  what 
makes  you  associate  with  Craigengelt,  so  much  beneath  you 
both  in  birth  and  spirit  ?  " 

"In  plain  terms,"  answered  Bucklaw,  "because  I  am  a 
fool,  who  have  gambled  away  my  land  in  these  times.  My 
grandaunt,  Lady  Girnington,  has  taen  a  new  tack  of  life,  I 
think,  and  I  could  only  hope  to  get  something  by  a  change  of 
government.  Craigie  was  a  sort  of  gambling  acquaintance  ;  he 
saw  my  condition ;  and,  as  the  devil  is  always  at  one's  elbow, 
told  me  fifty  lies  about  his  credentials  from  Versailles  and  his 
interest  at  Saint  Germains,  promised  me  a  captain's  commission 
at  Paris,  and  I  have  been  ass  enough  to  put  my  thumb  under 
his  belt.  I  daresay  by  this  time  he  has  told  a  dozen  pretty 
stories  of  me  to  the  Government.  And  this  is  what  I  have  got 
by  wine,  women,  and  dice,  cocks,  dogs,  and  horses." 

'""Yes,  Bucklaw,"  said  the  Master,  "you  have  indeed  nour- 
ished in  your  bosom  the  snakes  that  are  now  stinging  you." 

"  That's  home  as  well  as  true.  Master,"  replied  his  companion; 
"but,  by  your  leave,  you  have  nursed  in  your  bosom  one  great 
goodly  snake  that  has  swallowed  all  the  rest,  and  is  as  sure 
to  devour  you  as  my  half-dozen  are  to  make  a  meal  on  all 
that's  left  of  Bucklaw,  which  is  but  what  lies  between  bonnet 
and  boot-heel." 

"  I  must  not,"  answered  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  chal- 
lenge the  freedom  of  speech  in  which  I  have  set  example. 
What,  to  speak  without  a  metaphor,  do  you  call  this  monstrous 
passion,  which  you  charge  me  with  fostering  ?  " 

"  Revenge,  my  good  sir,  revenge  ;  which  if  it  be  as  gentlemai> 


^8  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

like  a  sin  as  wine  and  wassail  with  their  et  cceteras,  is  equatl} 
unchristian,  and  not  so  bloodless.  It  is  better  breaking  a  park- 
pale,  to  watch  a  doe  or  damsel,  than  to  shoot  an  old  man." 

"  I  deny  the  purpose,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 
"  On  my  soul,  I  had  no  such  intention  ;  I  meant  but  to  confront 
the  oppressor  ere  I  left  my  native  land,  and  upbraid  him  with 
his  tyranny  and  its  consequences.  I  would  have  stated  my 
wrongs  so  that  they  would  hav^e  shaken  his  soul  within  him." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bucklaw,  "  and  he  would  have  collared 
you,  and  cried  help,  and  then  you  would  have  shaken  the  soul 
out  of  him,  I  suppose.  Your  very  look  and  manner  would  have 
frightened  the  old  man  to  death." 

"  Consider  the  provocation,"  answered  Ravenswood — "  con- 
sider the  ruin  and  death  procured  and  caused  by  his  hard- 
hearted cruelty — an  ancient  house  destroyed,  an  aiTectionate 
father  murdered  !  Why,  in  our  old  Scottish  days,  he  that  sat 
quiet  under  such  wrongs,  would  have  been  held  neither  fit  to 
back  a  friend  nor  face  a  foe." 

"  Well,  Master,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  the  devil  deals  as 
cunningly  with  other  folk  as  he  deals  with  me ;  for  whenever 
I  am  about  to  commit  any  folly,  he  persuades  me  it  is  the  most 
necessary,  gallant,  gentlemanlike  thing  on  earth,  and  I  am 
up  to  saddlegirths  in  the  bog  before  I  see  that  the  ground  is 

soft.     And  you,  Master,  might  have  turned  out  a  murd a 

homicide,  just  out  of  pure  respect  for  your  father's  memory." 

"  There  is  more  sense  in  your  language,  Bucklaw,"  replied 
the  Master.  "  than  might  have  been  expected  from  j'our  conduct. 
It  is  too  true,  our  vices  steal  upon  us  in  forms  outwardly  as 
fair  as  those  of  the  demons  whom  the  superstitious  represent  as 
intriguing  with  the  human  race,  and  are  not  discovered  in  their 
native  hideousness  until  we  have  clasped  them  in  our  arms." 

"  But  we  may  throw  them  from  us,  though,"  said  Bucklaw. 
"  and  that  is  what  I  shall  think  of  doing  one  of  those  days, — • 
that  is,  when  old  Lady  Girnington  dies." 

"  Did  yovi  ever  hear  the  expression  of  the  English  divine  ?  " 
said  Ravenswood — "  '  Hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions ' — as 
much  as  to  say,  they  are  more  often  formed  than  executed." 

"Well,"  replied  Bucklaw,  "but  I  will  begin  this  blessed 
night,  and  have  determined  not  to  drink  above  one  quart  of 
wine,  unless  your  claret  be  of  extraordinary  quality." 

"  You  will  find  little  to  tempt  you  at  Wolf's  Crag,"  said  the 
Master.  "  I  know  not  that  I  can  promise  you  more  than  the 
shelter  of  my  roof  ;  all,  and  more  than  all,  our  stock  of  wine  and 
provisions  was  exhausted  at  the  late  occasion." 

"Long   may  it  be  ere  provision  is  needed  for  the  like  pm 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ^g 

{)OSe,**  answered  Bucklaw  ;  "  but  you  should  not  drink  up  the 
ast  flask  at  a  dirge  ;  there  is  ill  luck  in  that." 

"There  is  ill  luck,  I  think,  in  whatever  belongs  to  me,"  said 
Ravenswood.  "  But  yonder  is  Wolf's  Crag,  and  whatever  it 
still  contains  is  at  your  service." 

The  roar  of  the  sea  had  long  announced  their  approach  to 
the  cliffs,  and  the  summit  of  which,  like  the  nest  of  some  sea- 
eagle,  the  founder  of  the  fortalice  had  perched  his  eyry  The 
pale  moon,  which  had  hitherto  been  contending  with  flitting 
clouds,  now  shone  out,  and  gave  them  a  view  of  the  solitary 
and  naked  tower,  situated  on  a  projecting  cliff  that  beetled  on 
the  German  Ocean.  On  three  sides  the  rock  was  precipitous  ;  ^  T — 
on  the  fourth,  which  was  that  toward  the  land,  it  had  been  '^'^-'*-^-^ 
orginally  fenced  by  an  artificial  ditch  and  drawbridge,  but  the 
latter  was  broken  down  and  ruinous,  and  the  former  had  been 
in  part  filled  up,  so  as  to  allow  passage  for  a  horseman  into  the 
narrow  courtyard,  encircled  on  two  sides  with  low  offices  and 
stables,  partly  ruinous,  and  closed  on  the  landward  front  by  a 
low  embattled  wall,  while  the  remaining  side  of  the  quadrangle 
was  occupied  by  the  tower  itself,  which,  tall  and  narrow,  and 
built  of  a  grayish  stone,  stood  glimmering  in  the  moonlight, 
like  the  sheeted  spectre  of  some  huge  giant.  A  wilder  or  more 
disconsolate  dwelling,  it  was  perhaps  difficult  to  conceive.  The 
sombrous  and  heavy  sound  of  the  billows,  successively  dashing 
against  the  rocky  beach  at  a  profound  distance  beneath,  was  to 
the  ear  what  the  landscape  was  to  the  eye — a  symbol  of  unvaried 
and  monotonous  melancholy,  not  unmingled  with  horror.* 

Although  the  night  was  not  far  advanced,  there  was  no  sign 
of  living  inhabitant  about  this  forlorn  abode,  excepting  that 
one,  and  only  one,  of  the  narrow  and  stancheled  windows 
which  appeared  at  irregular  heights  and  distances  in  the  walls 
of  the  building,  showed  a  small  glimmer  of  light. 

"There,"  said  Ravenswood,  "sits  the  only  male  domestic 
that  remains  to  the  house  of  Ravenswood,  and  it  is  well  that 
he  does  remain  there,  since  otherwise,  ve  had  little  hope  to  find 
either  light  or  fire.  But  follow  me  cautiously ;  the  road  is  nar- 
row, and  admits  only  one  horse  in  front." 

In  effect,  the  path  led  along  a  kind  of  isthmus,  at  the 
peninsular  extremity  of  which  the  tower  was  situated,  with  that 
exclusive  attention  to  strength  and  security,  in  preference  to 
every  circumstance  of  convenience,  which  dictated  to  the  Scot- 

*  [Wolf's  Crag  and  Fast  Castle.— See  the  Author's  explanatioo  in  his 
Introduction  to  Chronicles  of  the  Canon^te,  vol,  xix.l 


CO  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

tish  barons  the  choice  of  tlieir  situations,  as  well  as  their  style 
of  building. 

By  adopting  the  cautious  mode  of  approach  recommended  by 
the  proprietor  of  this  wild  hold,  they  entered  the  courtyard  in 
safety.  But  it  was  long  ere  the  efforts  of  Ravenswood,  though 
loudly  exerted  by  knocking  at  the  low-browed  entrance,  and 
repeated  shouts  to  Caleb  to  open  the  gate  and  admit  them, 
received  any  answer. 

"  The  old  man  must  be  departed,"  he  began  to  say,  "  oi 
fallen  into  some  fit ;  for  the  noise  I  have  made  would  have 
waked  the  seven  sleepers  " 

At  length  a  timid  and  hesitating  voice  replied, — "  Master — 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  is  it  you  }  " 

"  Yes.  it  is  I,  Caleb ;  open  the  door  quickly." 

"  But  is  it  you  in  very  blood  and  body  ?  For  I  would  sooner 
face  fifty  deevils  as  my  master's  ghaist,  or  even  his  wraith — • 
wherefore,  aroint  ye,  if  ye  were  ten  times  my  master,  unless  ye 
come  in  bodily  shape,  lith  and  limb." 

"  It  is  I,  you  old  fool,"  answered  Ravenswood,  "  in  bodily 
shape,  and  alive,  save  that  I  am  half-dead  with  cold." 

The  light  at  the  upper  window  disappeared,  and  glancing 
from  loop-hole  to  loop-hole  in  slow  succession,  gave  intimation 
that  the  bearer  was  in  the  act  of  descending,  with  great  deliber- 
ation, a  winding  staircase  occupying  one  of  the  turrets  which 
graced  the  angles  of  the  old  tower.  The  tardiness  of  his  descent 
extracted  some  exclamations  of  impatience  from  Ravenswood, 
and  several  oaths  from  his  less  patient  and  more  mercurial 
companion.  Caleb  again  paused  ere  he  unbolted  the  door,  and 
once  more  asked,  if  they  were  men  of  mould  that  demanded 
entrance  at  this  time  of  night  ? 

"  Were  I  near  you,  you  old  fool,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  I  would 
give  you  sufficient  proofs  of  mj>  bodily  condition." 

"  Open  the  gate,  Caleb,"  said  his  master,  in  a  more  soothing 
tone,  partly  from  his  regard  to  the  ancient  and  faithful  seneschal, 
partly  perhaps  because  he  thought  that  angry  words  would  be 
thrown  away,  so  long  as  Caleb  had  a  stout  iron-clenched  oaken 
door  betwixt  his  person  and  the  speakers. 

At  length  Caleb,  with  a  trembling  hand,  undid  the  bars, 
opened  the  heavy  door,  and  stood  before  them,  exhibiting  his 
thin  gray  hairs,  bald  forehead,  and  sharp  high  features,  illumi- 
nated by  a  quivering  lamp  which  he  held  in  one  hand,  while  he 
shaded  and  protected  its  flame  with  the  other.  The  timorous 
courteous  glance  which  he  threw  around  him — the  effect  of  the 
partial  light  upon  his  white  hair  and  illumined  features,  might 
have  made  a  good  painting ;  but  our  travelers  were  too  imp* 


THE  BR  IDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  51 

rient  for  security  against  the  rising  storm,  to  permit  them  to 
indulge  themselves  in  studying  the  picturesque.  "  Is  it  you, 
my  dear  master?  is  it  you  yourself,  indeed  ?"  exclaimed  the  old 
domestic.  "  I  am  wae  ye  suld  hae  stude  waiting  at  your  ain 
gate  ;  but  wha  wad  hae  thought  o'  seeing  ye  sae  sune,  and  a 
strange  gentleman  with  a — (Here  he  exclaimed  apart,  as  it 
ivere,  and  to  some  inmate  of  the  tower,  in  a  voice  not  meant  to 
be  heard  by  those  in  the  court — Mysie — Mysie,  woman  ;  stir 
for  dear  life,  and  get  the  fire  mended  ;  take  the  auld  three- 
legged  stool,  or  ony  thing  that's  readiest  that  will  make  a  lowe). 
— I  doubt  we  are  but  puirly  provided,  no  expecting  ye  this 
some  months,  when  doubtless  ye  wad  hae  been  received  con- 
form till  your  rank,  as  gude  right  is  ;  but  natheless" 

"  Natheless,  Caleb,"  said  the  Master,  "  we  must  have  our 
horses  put  up,  and  ourselves  too,  the  best  way  we  can.  I 
hope  you  are  not  sorry  to  see  me  sooner  than  you  expected  ? " 

"  Sorry,  my  lord  ! — I  am  sure  ye  sail  aye  be  my  lord  wi' 
honest  folk,  as  your  noble  ancestors  hae  been  these  three 
hundred  years,  and  never  asked  a  whig's  leave.  Sorry  to  see  the 
Lord  of  Ravenswood  at  ane  o'  his  ain  castles  ! — (Then  again 
apart  to  his  unseen  associate  behind  the  screen — Mysie,  kill 
the  brood-hen  without  thinking  twice  on  it  ;  let  them  care  that 
come  ahint.) — No  to  say  it's  our  best  dwelling,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  Bucklaw  ;  "  but  just  a  strength  for  the  Lord  of  Ravens- 
wood  to  flee  until, — that  is,  not  to  flee,  but  to  retreat  until  in 
troublous  times,  like  the  present,  when  it  was  ill  convenient  for 
him  to  live  fruther  in  the  country  in  ony  of  his  better  and  mair 
principal  manors  ;  but,  for  its  antiquity,  maist  folk  think  that 
the  outside  of  Wolf's  Crag  is  worthy  of  a  large  perusal." 

"  And  you  are  determined  we  shall  have  time  to  make  it," 
said  Ravenswood,  somewhat  amused  with  the  shifts  the  old 
man  used  to  detain  them  without  doors,  until  his  confederate 
Mysie  had  made  her  preparations  within. 

"  O,  never  mind  the  outside  of  the  house,  my  good  friend," 
said  Bucklaw  ;  "  let's  see  the  inside,  and  let  our  horses  see  the 
stable,  that's  all." 

"  O  yes,  sir — ay,  sir, —  unquestionably,  sir^-my  lord  and 
ony  of  his  honorable  companions" 

"  But  our  horses,  my  old  friend — our  horses  ;  they  will  be 
dead-foundered  by  standing  here  in  the  cold  after  riding  hard, 
and  mine  is  too  good  to  be  spoiled  ;  therefore,  once  more,  out 
horses,"  exclaimed  Bucklaw. 

"  True — ay — your  horses — yes — I  will  call  the  grooms  ;  " 
and  sturdily  did  Caleb  roar  till  the  old  tower  rang  again, — 
"John — William — Saunders! — The  lads  are  gane  out,  or  sleep- 


52 


THE  BR  WE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


ing  "  he  observed,  after  pausing  for  an  answer,  which  he  kne^f 
that  he  had  no  human  chance  of  receiving.  "  A'  gaes  wrang 
■when  the  Master's  out  by  ;  but  I'll  take  care  o'  j'our  cattle 
mysell." 

"  I  think  you  had  better,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  otherwise  I 
see  little  chance  of  their  being  attended  to  at  all," 

"Whisht,  my  lord, — whisht,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Caleb, 
in  an  imploring  tone,  and  apart  to  his  master  ;  "if  ye  dinna 
gard  your  ain  credit,  think  on  mine  ;  we'll  hae  hard  eneugh 
wark  to  mak  a  decent  night  o't,  wi'  a'  the  lees  I  can  tell." 

"Well,  well,  never  mind,"  said  his  master;  "go  to  the 
stable.     There  is  hay  and  corn,  I  trust }  " 

"  Ou  ay,  plenty  of  hay  and  corn  ;  "  this  was  uttered  boldly 
and  aloud,  and,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  there  was  some  half-fous 
o'  aits,  and  some  taits  o'  meadow-hay,  left  after  the  burial." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ravenswood,  taking  the  lamp  from  his 
domestic's  unwilling  hand,  "  I  will  show  the  stranger  up  stairs 
myself," 

"  I  canna  think  o'  that,  my  lord  ; — if  ye  wad  but  have  five 
minutes,  or  ten  minutes,  or  at  maist,  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  pa- 
tience, and  look  at  the  fine  moonlight  prospect  of  the  Bass*  and 
North  Berwick  Law  till  I  sort  the  horses,  I  would  marshal  ye 
up,  as  reason  is  ye  suld  be  marshaled,  your  lordship  and  your 
honorable  visitor.  And  I  hae  lockit  up  the  siller  candlesticks, 
and  the  lamp  is  not  fit" 

"  It  will  do  very  well  in  the  meantime,"  said  Ravenswood, 
"  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  for  want  of  light  in  the  stables, 
for,  if  I  recollect,  half  the  roof  is  off." 

"Very  true,  my  lord,"  replied  the  trusty  adherent,  and  with 
ready  wit  instantly  added,  "  and  the  lazy  sclater  loons  have 
never  come  to  put  it  on  a'  this  while,  your  lordship." 

■■'  If  I  were  disposed  to  jest  at  the  calamities  of  my  house," 
said  Ravenswood,  as  he  led  the  way  up  stairs,  "  poor  old  Caleb 
would  furnish  me  with  ample  means.  His  passion  consists  in 
rej^resenting  things  about  our  miserable  tnenage,  not  as  they  are, 
but  as,  in  his  opinion,  they  ought  to  be  ;  and,  to  say  the  truth, 
I  have  been  often  diverted  with  the  poor  wretch's  expedients  to 
supply  what  he  thought  was  essential  for  the  credit  of  the  family, 
and  his  still  more  generous  apologies  for  the  want  of  those 
articles  for  which  his  ingenuity  could  discover  no  substitute. 
But  though  the  tower  is  none  of  the  largest,  I  shall  have  some 
trouble  without  him  to  find  the  apartment  in  which  there  is  a 
fire." 

♦  [A  solitary  rock  off  the  coast  of  East  Lotliian.] 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


^l 


As  he  spoke  thus,  he  opened  the  door  of  the  hall.  "  Here, 
at  least,"  he  said,   "  there  is  neither  hearth  nor  harbor." 

It  was  indeed  a  scene  of  desolation,  A  large  vaulted  room, 
the  beams  of  which,  combined  like  those  of  Westminster  Hall, 
were  rudely  carved  at  the  extremities,  remained  nearly  in  the 
situation  in  which  it  had  been  left  after  the  entertainment  at 
Allan  Lord  Ravenswood's  funeral.  Overturned  pitchers,  and 
blackjacks,  and  pewter  stoups,  and  flagons,  still  encumbered  the 
large  oaken  table  ;  glasses,  those  more  perishable  implements  of 
conviviality,  many  of  which  had  been  voluntarily  sacrificed 
by  the  guests  in  their  enthusiastic  pledges  to  favorite  toasts, 
strewed  the  stone  floor  with  their  fragments.  As  for  the  ar- 
ticles of  plate  lent  for  the  purpose  by  friends  and  kinsfolk,  those 
had  been  carefully  withdrawn  so  soon  as  the  ostentatious  dis- 
play of  festivity,  equally  unnecessary  and  strangely  timed,  had 
been  made  and  ended.  Nothing,  in  short,  remained  that  indi- 
cated wealth  ;  all  the  signs  were  those  of  recent  wastefulness, 
and  present  desolation.  The  black  cloth  hangings,  which,  on 
the  late  mournful  occasion,  replaced  the  tattered  moth-eaten 
tapestries,  had  been  partly  pulled  down,  and,  dangling  from  the 
wall  in  irregular  festoons,  disclosed  the  rough  stone-worK  of 
the  building,  unsmoothed  either  by  plaster  or  the  chisel.  The 
seats  thrown  down,  or  left  in  disorder,  intimated  the  careless 
confusion  which  had  concluded  the  mournful  revel.  "  This 
room,"  said  Ravenswood,  holding  up  the  lamp — "  this  room, 
Mr.  Hayston,  was  riotous  when  it  should  have  been  sad  ;  it  is 
a  just  retribution  that  it  should  now  be  sad  when  it  ought  to  be 
cheerful." 

They  left  this  disconsolate  apartment,  and  went  upstairs, 
where,  after  opening  one  or  two  doors  in  vain,  Ravenswood  led 
the  way  into  a  little  matted  anteroom,  in  which,  to  their  great 
joy,  they  found  a  tolerable  good  fire,  which  Mysie,  by  some  such 
expedient  as  Caleb  had  suggested,  had  supplied  with  a  reason- 
able quantity  of  fuel.  Glad  at  the  heart  to  see  more  of  comfort 
than  the  castle  had  yet  seemed  to  offer,  Bucklaw  rubbed  his 
hands  heartily  over  the  fire,  and  now  listened  with  more  compla- 
cency to  the  apologies  wliich  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  offered. 
"  Comfort,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  provide  for  you,  for  I  have  it  not 
for  myself ;  it  is  long  since  these  walls  have  known  it,  if,  indeed, 
they  were  ever  acquainted  with  it.  Shelter  and  safety,  I  think, 
I  can  promise  you." 

"  Excellent  matters,  Master,"  replied  Bucklaw,  "  and  with 
a  mouthful  of  food  and  wine,  positively  all  I  can  require  to- 
night." 

"  I  fear,"  said  the  Master,  "  your  supper  will  be  a  poor  one ; 


54  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

I  hear  the  matter  in  discussion  betwixt  Caleb  and  Mysie, 
Poor  Balderston  is  something  deaf,  amongst  his  other  accom- 
plishments, so  that  much  of  what  he  means  should  be  spoken 
aside  is  overheard  by  the  whole  audience,  and  especially  by 
those  from  whom  he  is  most  anxious  to  conceal  his  private 
manoeuvres — Hark  !  " 

They  listened,  and  heard  the  old  domestic's  voice  in  conver 
sation  with  Mysie  to  the  following  effect.  "  Just  mak  the  best 
o't,  mak  the  best  o't,  woman  ;  it's  easy  to  put  a  fair  face  on 
ony  thing." 

"  But  the  auld  brood-hen  ! — she'll  be  as  teugh  as  bow-strings 
and  bend  leather  !  " 

"  Say  ye  made  a  mistake — say  ye  made  a  mistake,  Mysie," 
replied  the  faithful  seneschal,  in  a  soothing  and  undertoned 
voice  ;  "  tak  it  a'  on  yoursell  ;  never  let  the  credit  o'  the  house 
suffer." 

"  But  the  brood-hen,"  remonstrated  Mysie, — "  ou,  she's 
sitting  some  gate  aneath  the  dais  in  the  hall,  and  I  am  feared 
to  gae  in  in  the  dark  for  the  bogle  ;  and  if  I  didna  see  the  bogle, 
1  could  as  ill  see  the  hen,  for  it's  pit  mirk,  and  there's  no  an 
other  light  in  the  house,  save  that  very  blessed  lamp  whilk  the 
Master  has  in  his  ain  hand.  And  if  I  had  the  hen,  she's  to  pu', 
and  to  draw,  and  to  dress  ;  how  can  I  do  that,  and  them  sitting 
by  the  only  fire  we  have  ?  " 

"  Weel,  weel,  Mysie,"  said  the  butler,  "  bide  ye  there  a  wee, 
and  I'll  try  to  get  the  lamp  wiled  away  frae  them." 

Accordingly,  Caleb  Balderston  entered  the  apartment,  little 
aware  that  so  much  of  his  bA'-play  had  been  audible  there. 
''  Well,  Caleb,  my  old  friend,  is  there  any  chance  of  supper  ?  " 
said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

"  Chance  of  supper,  your  lordship  ?  "  said  Caleb,  with  an 
emphasis  of  strong  scorn  at  the  implied  doubt, — "  How  should 
there  be  ony  question  of  that,  and  us  in  your  lordship's  house  ? 
— Chance  of  supper,  indeed  ! — But  ye'll  no  be  for  butcher  meat  i 
There's  walth  o'  frt  poultry,  ready  either  for  spit  or  brander — 
The  fat  capon,  Mysie  ! "  he  added,  calling  out  as  boldly  as  if 
such  a  thing  had  been  in  existence. 

"  Quite  unnecessary,"  said  Bucklaw,  who  deemed  himself 
bound  in  courtesy  to  relieve  some  part  of  the  anxious  butler's 
perplexity,  "  if  you  have  anything  cold,  or  a  morsel  of  bread." 

"  The  best  of  bannocks  !  "  exclaimed  Caleb,  much  relieved ; 
"and  for  cauld  meat,  a'  that  we  hae  is  cauld  enough, — howbeit 
maist  of  the  cauld  meat  and  pastry  was  gien  to  the  puir  folk 
after  the  ceremony  of  interment,  as  gude  reason  was ;  nevep' 
theless" 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


55 


"  Come,  Caleb,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  I  must  cut 
^is  matter  short.     This   is  the  young  Laird  of  Bucklaw ;  he  is 

under  hiding  and  therefore,  you  know" 

"  He'll  be  nae  nicer  than  your  lordship's  honor,  I'se  warrant," 
answered  Caleb  cheerfully,  with  a  nod  of  intelligence  ;  "I  am 
sorry  that  the  gentleman  is  under  distress,  but  1  am  blithe  that 
he  canna  say  muckle  again  our  housekeeping,  for  I  believe  his 
ain  pinches  may  match  ours ; — no  that  we  are  pinched,  thank 
God,"  he  added,  retracting  the  admission  which  he  had  made 
in  his  first  burst  of  joy,  "  but  nae  doubt  we  are  waur  dSi  than 
we  hae  been  or  suld  be.  And  for  eating — what  signifies  telling 
a  lee  ?  there's  just  the  hinder  end  of  the  mutton-ham  that  has 
been  but  three  times  on  the  table,  and  the  nearer  the  bane  the 
sweeter,  as  your  honors  weel  ken ;  and — there's  the  heel  of  the 
ewe  milk  kebbuck,  wi'  a  bit  of  nice  butter,  and — and — that's 
a'  that's  to  trust  to."  And  with  great  alacrity  he  produced  his 
slender  stock  of  provisions,  and  placed  them  with  much  formality 
upon  a  small  round  table  betwixt  the  two  gentlemen,  who  were 
not  deterred  either  by  the  homely  quality  or  limited  quantity 
of  the  repast  from  doing  it  full  justice.  Caleb  in  the  mean- 
while waited  on  them  with  grave  officiousness,  as  if  anxious  to 
make  up,  by  his  own  respectful  assiduity,  for  the  want  of  all 
other  attendance. 

But,  alas  !  how  little  on  such  occasions  can  form,  however 
anxiously  and  scrupulously  observed,  supply  the  lack  of  substan- 
tial fare  !  Bucklaw,  who  had  eagerly  eaten  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  thrice-sacked  mutton-ham,  now  began  to  demand  ale. 

"  I  wadna  just  presume  to  recommend  our  ale,"  said  Caleb ; 
"the  maut  was  ill  made,  and  there  was  awfu'  thunner  last 
week ;  but  siccan  water  as  the  Tower  well  has  ye'll  seldom  see, 
Bucklaw,  and  that  I'se  engage  for." 

"  But  if  your  ale  is  bad,  you  can  let  us  have  some  wine," 
said  Bucklaw,  making  a  grimace  at  the  mention  of  the  pure 
element  which  Caleb  so  earnestly  recommended. 

"  Wine  !  "  answered  Caleb  unclauntedly,  "  enauih  of  wine  ;  it 
was  but  twa  days  syne — wae's  me  for  the  cause — there  was  as 
much  wine  drunk  in  this  house  as  would  have  floated  a  pinnace. 
There  never  was  lack  of  wine  at  Wolf's  Crag." 

"  Do  fetch  us  some  then,"  said  his  master,  "  instead  of  talk- 
ing about  it.  "     And  Caleb  boldly  departed. 

Every  expended  butt  in  the  old  cellar  did  he  set  a-tilt,  and 
ghake  with  the  desperate  expectation  of  collecting  enough  of 
the  grounds  of  claret  to  fill  the  large  pewter  measure  which  he 
carried  in  his  hand.  Alas  !  each  had  been  too  devoutly  drained  ; 
and,  with  all  the  squeezing  and  manoeuvring  which  his  craft  as 


5  6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

a  butler  suggested,  he  could  only  collect  about  half-a-quart  that 
seemed  presentable.  Still,  however,  Caleb  was  too  good  a  general 
to  renounce  the  field  without  a  stratagem  to  cover  his  retreat 
He  undauntedly  threw  down  an  empty  flagon,  as  if  he  had 
stumbled  at  the  entrance  of  the  apartment ;  called  upon  Mysie 
to  wipe  up  the  wine  that  had  never  been  spilt,  and  placing  the 
other  vessel  on  the  table,  hoped  there  was  still  enough  left  for 
their  honors.  There  was  indeed  ;  for  even  Eucklaw,  a  sworn 
friend  to  the  grape,  found  no  encouragement  to  renew  his  first 
attack  on  the  vintage  of  Wolf's  Crag,  but  contented  himself, 
however  reluctantly,  with  a  draught  of  fair  water.  Arrange- 
ments w'cre  now  made  for  his  repose  ;  and  as  the  secret  chamber 
was  assigned  for  this  purpose,  it  furnished  Caleb  with  a  first- 
rate  and  most  plausible  apology  for  all  deficiencies  of  furniture, 
bedding,  etc. 

"For  wha,"  said  he,  "would  have  thought  of  the  secret 
chaumer  being  needed  ?  it  has  not  been  used  since  the  time  of 
the  Gowrie  Conspiracy,  and  I  durst  never  let  a  woman  ken  of 
the  entrance  to  it.,  or  your  honor  will  allow  that  it  wad  not 
hae  been  a  secret  chaumer  lane." 


CHAPTER  SEVENTH. 

The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead. 
No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within. 

Nor  merry  bowl,  nor  welcome  bed  ; 

"  Here's  sorry  cheer,"  quoth  the  Heir  of  Linne. 

Old  Ballad. 

'  The  feelings  of  the  prodigal  Heir  of  Linne,  as  expressed  in 
that  excellent  old  song,  when,  after  dissipating  his  whole  fortune, 
It^  found  himself  the  deserted  inhabitant  of  "  the  lonely  lodge," 
might  perhaps  have  some  resemblance  to  those  of  the  Mastei 
of  Ravenswood  in  his  deserted  mansion  of  Wolf's  Crag.  The 
Master,  however,  had  this  advantage  over  the  spendthrift  in  the 
legend,  that  if  he  was  in  similar  distress,  he  could  not  in.pute 
it  to  his  own  imprudence.  His  misery  had  been  bequeathed  to 
him  by  his  father,  and  joined  to  his  high  blood,  and  to  a  title 
which  the  courteous  might  give,  or  the  churlish  withholi  at 
their  pleasure,  it  was  the  whole  inheritance  he  had  derived  from 
his  ancestry. 

Perhaps  this  melancholy,  yet  consolatory  reflection  crossed 
*he  mind  of  the  unfortunate  young  nobleman  with  a  breathing 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


57 


of  comfort.  Favorable  to  calm  reflection,  as  well  as  to  the 
Muses,  the  morning,  while  it  dispelled  the  shades  of  night,  had 
a  composing  and  sedative  effect  upon  the  stormy  passions  by 
which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  been  agitated  on  the  pre- 
ceding day.  He  now  felt  himself  able  to  analyze  the  different 
feelings  by  which  he  was  agitated,  and  much  resolved  to  combat 
and  to  subdue  them.  The  morning,  which  had  arisen  calm  and 
bright,  gave  a  pleasant  effect  even  to  the  waste  moorland  view 
which  was  seen  from  the  castle  on  looking  to  the  landward, 
and  the  glorious  ocean,  crisped  with  a  thousand  rippling  waves 
of  silver,  extended  on  the  other  side,  in  awful  yet  complacent 
majesty,  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  With  such  scenes  of  calm 
sublimity  the  human  heart  sympathizes  even  in  its  most  dis- 
turbed moods,  and  deeds  of  honor  and  virtue  are  inspired  by 
their  majestic  influence. 

To  seek  out  Bucklaw  in  the  retreat  which  he  had  afforded  him 
was  the  first  occupation  of  the  Master,  after  he  had  performed, 
with  a  scrutiny  unusually  severe,  the  important  task  of  self- 
examination.  "  How  now,  Bucklaw  ? "  was  his  morning's  salu- 
tation— "  how  like  you  the  couch  in  which  the  exiled  Earl  of 
Angus  once  slept  in  security,  when  he  was  pursued  by  the  full 
energy  of  a  king's  resentment .''  " 

"  IJmph  !  "  returned  the  sleeper  awakened ;  "  I  have  little  to 
complain  of  where  so  great  a  man  was  quartered  before  me,  only 
the  mattress  was  of  the  hardest,  the  vault  somewhat  damp,  the 
rats  rather  more  mutinous  than  I  would  have  expected  from  the 
state  of  Caleb's  larder,  and  if  there  had  been  shutters  to  that 
grated  window,  or  a  curtain  to  the  bed,  I  should  think  it,  upon 
the  whole,  an  improvement  in  your  accommodations." 

"  It  is,  to  be  sure,  forlorn  enough,"  said  the  Master,  looking 
around  the  small  vault ;  "  but  if  you  will  rise  and  leave  it,  Caleb 
will  endeavor  to  find  you  a  better  breakfast  than  your  supper 
of  last  night." 

"  Pray,  let  it  be  no  better,"  said  Bucklaw,  getting  up,  and 
endeavoring  to  dress  himself  as  well  as  the  obscurity  of  the 
place  would  permit — "  let  it,  I  say,  be  no  better,  if  you  mean 
me  to  persevere  in  my  proposed  reformation.  The  very  recollec- 
tion of  Caleb's  beverage  has  done  more  to  suppress  my  longing 
to  open  the  day  with  a  morning  draught  than  twenty  sermons 
would  have  done.  And  you,  Master,  have  you  been  able  to  give 
battle  valiantly  to  your  bosom-snake  ?  You  see  I  am  in  the 
way  of  smothering  my  vipers  one  by  one." 

"  I  have  commenced  the  battle,  at  least,  Bucklaw,  and  I  have 
had  a  fair  vision  of  an  angel  who  descended  to  my  assistance," 
replied  the  Master. 


58  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"  Woe's  me  !  "  said  his  guest,  "  no  vision  can  I  expect,  unless 
my  aunt,  Lady  Girnington,  should  betake  herself  to  the  tomb  •, 
and  then  it  would  be  the  substance  of  her  heritage  rather  than 
the  appearance  of  her  phantom  that  I  should  consider  as  the 
support  of  my  good  resolutions.  But  this  same  breakfast, 
Master, — does  the  deer  that  is  to  make  the  pastry  run  yet  on 
foot,  as  the  ballad  has  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  inquire  into  that  matter,"  said  his  entertainer  ,  and 
leaving  the  apartment,  he  went  in  search  of  Caleb,  whom  after 
some  difficulty,  he  found  in  an  obscure  sort  of  dungeon,  which 
had  been  in  former  times  the  buttery  of  the  castle.  Here  the 
old  man  was  employed  busily  in  the  doubtful  task  of  burnishing 
a  pewter  flagon  until  it  should  take  the  hue  and  semblance  of 
silver-plate.  "  I  think  it  may  do — I  think  it  might  pass,  if 
they  winna  bring  it  ower  muckle  in  the  light  o'  the  window!" 
were  the  ejaculations  which  he  muttered  from  time  to  time,  as 
if  to  encourage  himself  in  his  undertaking,  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  voice  of  his  master.  "  Take  this,"  said  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood,  "  and  get  what  is  necessary  for  the  family." 
And  with  these  words  he  gave  to  the  old  butler  the  purse  which 
had  on  the  preceding  evening  so  narrowly  escaped  the  fangs  of 
Craigengelt.  The  old  man  shook  his  silvery  and  thin  locks,  and 
looked  with  an  expression  of  the  most  heartfelt  anguish  at  his 
master  as  he  weighed  in  his  hand  the  slender  treasure,  and  said 
in  a  sorrowful  voice,  "  And  is  this  a'  that's  left  ?  " 

"All  that  is  left  at  present,"  said  the  Master,  affecting  more 
cheerfulness  than  perhaps  he  really  felt,  "  is  just  the  green  purse 
and  the  wee  pickle  gowd,  as  the  old  song  says  ;  but  we  shall  do 
better  one  day,  Caleb." 

"  Before  that  day  comes,"  said  Caleb,  "  I  doubt  there  will  be 
an  end  of  an  auld  sang,  and  an  auld  serving-man  to  boot.  But 
it  disna  become  me  to  speak  that  gate  to  your  honor,  and  you 
looking  sae  pale.  Tak  back  the  purse,  and  keep  it  to  be  mak- 
ing a  show  before  company  ;  for  if  your  honor  would  just  tak  a 
bidding,  and  be  whiles  taking  it  out  afore  folk  and  putting  it  up 
again,  there's  naebody  would  refuse  us  trust,  for  a'  that's  come 
and  gane  y^t." 

"  But,  Caleb,"  said  the  Master,  "  I  still  intend  to  leave  this 
country  very  soon,  and  I  desire  to  do  so  with  the  reputation  of 
an  honest  man,  leaving  no  debt  behind  me,  at  least  of  my  own 
contracting." 

"  And  gude  right  ye  suld  gang  away  as  a  true  man,  and  so 
ye  shall  ;  for  auld  Caleb  can  tak  the  wyte  of  whatever  is  taen  on 
tor  the  house,  and  then  it  will  be  a'  just  ae  man's  burden  ;  and 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MMERMOOR.  59 

I  will  live  just  as  weel  in  the  tolbooth  as  out  of  it,  and  the  credit 
of  the  family  will  be  a'  safe  and  sound." 

The  Master  endeavored  in  vain  to  make  Caleb  comprehend 
that  the  butler's  incurring  the  responsibility  of  debts  in  his  own 
person  would  rather  add  to  than  remove  the  objections  which  he 
had  to  their  being  contracted.  He  spoke  to  a  premier,  too  busy 
in  devising  ways  and  means  to  puzzle  himself  with  refuting  the 
arguments  offered  against  their  justice  or  expediency.  v  , 

"  There's  Eppie  Sma'trash  will  trust  us  for  ale,"  said  Caleb    ^-'f^'^ 
to  himself ;  "  she  has  lived  a'  her  life  under  the  family — and  may-    /"'J 
be  wi'  a  soup  brandy — I  canna  say  for  wine — she  is  but  a  lone      -  '7*'^ 
woman,  and  gets  her  claret  by  a  runlet  at  a  time — but  I'll  work 
a  wee  drap  out  o'  her  by  fair  means  or  foul.     For  doos,  there's 
the  doocot — there  will  be  poultry  amang  the  tenants,  though  L,//!^ 
Luckie  Chirnside  says  she  has  paid  the  kain  twice  ower.     We'll 
mak  shift  an  it  like  your  honor — we'll  mak  shift — keep  your 
heart  abune,  for  the  house  sail  baud  its  credit  as  lang  as  auld 
Caleb  is  to  the  fore." 

The  entertainment  which  the  old  man's  exertions  of  various 
kinds  enabled  him  to  present  to  the  young  gentlemen  for  three 
or  four  days  was  certainly  of  no  splendid  description,  but  it  may 
readily  be  believed  it  was  set  before  no  critical  guests  ;  and  even 
the  distresses,  excuses,  evasions,  and  shifts  of  Caleb  afforded 
amusement  to  the  young  men,  and  added  a  sort  of  interest  to 
the  scrambling  and  irregular  style  of  their  table.  They  had  in 
deed  occasion  to  seize  on  every  circumstance  that  might  serve 
to  diversify  or  enliven  time,  which  otherwise  passed  away  so 
heavily. 

Bucklaw,  shut  out  from  his  usual  field-sports  and  joyous 
carouses  by  the  necessity  of  remaining  concealed  within  the  walls 
of  the  castle,  became  a  joyless  and  uninteresting  companion. 
When  the  Master  of  Ravenwood  would  no  longer  fence  or  play 
at  shovel-board — when  he  himself  had  polished  to  the  extremity 
the  coat  of  his  palfrey,  with  brush,  currycomb,  and  hair-cloth  — 
when  he  had  seen  him  eat  his  provender,  and  gently  lie  dcv/ji 
in  his  stall,  he  could  hardly  help  envying  the  animal's  apparent 
acquiescence  in  a  life  so  monotonous.  "  The  stupid  brute,"  h(? 
said,  "  thinks  neither  of  the  race-ground  nor  the  hunting-field,  of 
his  green  paddock  at  Bucklaw,  but  enjoys  himself  as  comfortably 
when  haltered  to  the  rack  in  this  ruinous  vault,  as  if  he  had  been 
foaled  in  it ;  and  I,  who  have  the  freedom  of  a  prisoner  at  large, 
to  range  through  the  dungeons  of  this  wretched  old  tower,  can 
hardly,  betwixt  whistling  and  sleeping,  contrive  to  pass  away  the 
hour  till  dinner-time." 

And  with  this  disconsolate  reflection,  he  wended  his  way  tQ 


6o  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

the  bartisan  or  battlements  of  the  tower,  to  watch  what  objects 
might  appear  on  the  distant  moor,  or  to  pelt,  with  pebbles  and 
pieces  of  lime,  the  sea-mews  and  cormorants  which  established 
themselves  incautiously  within  the  reach  of  an  idle  young  man. 
Ravenswood,  with  a  mind  incalculably  deeper  and  more  power- 
ful than  that  of  his  companion,  had  his  own  anxious  subjects  of 
reflection,  which  wrought  for  him  the  same  unhappiness  that 
sheer  ennui  and  want  of  occupation  inflicted  on  his  companion. 
The  first  sight  of  Lucy  Ashton  had  been  less  impressive  than 
her  image  proved  to  be  upon  reflection.  As  the  depth  and  vio- 
lence of  that  revengeful  passion  by  which  he  had  been  actuated 
in  seeking  an  interview  with  the  father,  began  to  abate  by  de- 
grees, he  looked  back  on  his  conduct  toward  the  daughter  as 
harsh  and  unworthy  toward  a  female  of  rank  and  beauty.  Her 
looks  of  grateful  acknowledgment,  her  words  of  affectionate 
courtesy,  had  been  repelled  with  something  which  approached 
to  disdain  ;  and  if  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  sustained 
wrongs  at  the  hand  of  Sir  William  Ashton,  his  conscience  told 
him  they  had  been  unhandsomely  resented  toward  his  daughter. 
^^'hen  his  thoughts  took  this  turn  of  self-reproach,  the  recollec- 
tion of  Lucy  Ashton's  beautiful  features,  rendered  yet  more  in- 
teresting by  the  circumstances  in  which  their  meeting  had  taken 
place,  made  an  impression  upon  his  mind  at  once  soothing  and 
painful.  The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  the  delicacy  of  her  ex- 
pressions, the  vivid  glow  of  her  filial  afl^ection,  embittered  his 
regret  at  having  repulsed  her  gratitude  with  rudeness,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  they  placed  before  his  imagination  a  picture 
of  the  most  seducing  sweetness. 

Even  young  Ravenswood's  strength  of  moral  feeling  and 
rectitude  of  purpose  at  once  increased  the  danger  of  cherishing 
these  recollections,  and  the  propensity  to  entertain  them.  Firmly 
resolved  as  he  was  to  subdue,  if  possible,  the  predominating 
vice  in  his  character,  he  admitted  with  willingness — nay,  he  sum- 
moned up  in  his  imagination,  the  ideas  by  which  it  could  be 
most  powerfully  counteracted  ;  and,  while  he  did  so,  a  sense  of 
his  own  harsh  conduct  toward  the  daughter  of  his  enemy  natu- 
rally induced  him,  as  if  byway  of  recompense,  to  invest  her  with 
more  of  grace  and  beauty  than  perhaps  she  could  actually  claim. 

Had  any  one  at  this  period  told  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
that  he  had  so  lately  vowed  vengeance  agamst  the  whole  lineage 
of  him  whom  he  considered,  not  unjustly,  as  author  of  his  father's 
ruin  and  death,  he  might  at  first  have  repelled  the  charge  as  a 
foul  calumny  ;  yet,  upon  serious  self-examination  he  would  have 
been  compelled  to  admit,  that  it  had,  at  one  period,  some 
foundation  in  truth,  though,  according  to  the  present  tone  of 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  6t 

his  sentiments,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  this  had  really 
been  the  case. 

There  already  existed  in  his  bosom  two  contradictory  passions . 

— a  Jesire  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  faiher,  strangely  qualined^yv^feiM'< 
by  ^miration  of  his  enemy's  daughter.  Against  the  former  Vj 
feeling  he  had  struggled,  until  it  seemed  to  him  upon  the  wane  ; 
a'.^ainst  the  latter  he  used  no  means  of  resistance,  for  he  did  not 
suspect  its  existence.  That  this  was  actually  the  case,  was 
ciiietiy  evinced  by  his  resuming  his  resolution  to  leave  Scotland. 
Yet,  though  such  was  his  purpose,  he  remained  day  after  day  at 
Wolf's  Crag,  without  taking  measures  for  carrying  it  into  execu- 
tion. It  is  true  that  he  had  written  to  one  or  two  kinsmen,  who 
resided  in  a  distant  quarter  of  Scotland,  and  particularly  to  the 

Marquis  of  A ,    intimating  his  purpose  ;  and  when  pressed 

upon  the  subject  by  Bucklaw,  he  was  wont  to  allege  the  neces- 
sity of  v/aiting  for  their  reply,  especially  that  of  the  Marquis, 
before  taking  so  decisive  a  measure. 

The  Marquis  was  rich  and  powerful  ;  and  although  he  was 
suspected  to  entertain  sentiments  unfavorable  to  the  govern- 
ment established  at  the  Revolution,  he  had  nevertheless  address 
enough  to  head  a  party  in  the  Scottish  Privy  Council,  connected 
with  the  high  church  faction  in  England,  and  powerful  enough 
to  menace  those  to  whom  the  Lord  Keeper  adhered,  with  a  prob- 
able subversion  of  their  power.  The  consulting  with  a  per- 
sonage of  such  importance  was  a  plausible  excuse,  which 
Ravenswood  used  to  Bucklaw,  and  probably  to  himself,  for 
continuing  his  residence  at  Wolf's  Crag  ;  and  it  was  rendered 
yet  more  so  by  a  general  report  which  began  to  be  current,  of 
a  probable  change  of  ministers  and  measures  in  the  Scottish 
administration.  These  rumors,  strongly  asserted  by  some,  and 
as  resolutely  denied  by  others,  as  their  wishes  or  interest  dic- 
tated, found  their  way  even  to  the  ruinous  Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag, 
chiefly  through  the  medium  of  Caleb  the  butler,  who,  among 
his  other  excellences,  was  an  ardent  politician,  and  seldom 
made  on  excursion  from  the  old  fortress  to  the  neighboring 
village  of  Wolf's  Hope,  without  bringing  back  what  tidings 
were  current  in  the  vicinity. 

But  if  Bucklaw  could  not  offer  any  satisfactory  objections  to 
the  delay  of  the  Master  in  leaving  Scotland,  he  did  not  the  less 
suffer  with  impatience  the  state  of  inaction  to  which  it  confined 
him  ;  and  it  was  only  the  ascendency  which  his  new  companion 
had  acquired  over  him,  that  induced  him  to  submit  to  a  course 
of  life  so  alien  to  his  habits  and  inclinations. 

"  You  were  wont  to  be  thought  a  stirring  active  young  fellow. 
Master,"  was  his  frequent  remonstrance  ;  "  yet  here  you  seem 


62  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMJ-.RMOOR. 

determined  to  live  on  and  on  like  a  rat  in  a  hole,  with  this 
trifling  difference,  that  the  wiser  vermin  chooses  a  hermitage 
where  he  can  find  food  at  least ;  but  as  for  us,  Caleb's  excuses 
become  longer  as  his  diet  turns  more  spare,  and  I  fear  we  shall 
realize  the  stories  they  tell  of  the  sloth, — we  have  almost  eat  up 
the  last  green  leaf  on  the  plant,  and  have  nothing  left  for  it  but 
to  drop  from  the  tree  and  break  our  necks." 

"  Do  not  fear,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  there  is  a  fate  watche?. 
for  us,  and  we  too  have  a  stake  in  the  revolution  that  is  rujv/ 
impending,  and  which  already  has  alarmed  many  a  bosom 

"  What  fate — what  revolution  ?  "  inquired  his  companion. 
"  We  have  had  one  revolution  too  much  already,  I  think." 

Ravenswood  interrupted  him  by  putting  into  his  hands  a 
letter. 

"Oh,"  answered  Bucklav/,  "my  dream's  out — I  thought  I 
heard  Caleb  this  morning  pressing  some  unfortunate  fellow  to 
a  drink  of  cold  water,  and  assuring  him  it  was  better  for  his 
stomach  in  the  morning  than  ale  or  brandy." 

"  It  was  my  Lord  of  A 's    courier,"    said  Ravenswood, 

"  who  was  doomed  to  experience  his  ostentatious  hospitality, 
which  I  believe  ended  in  sour  beer  and  herrings — Read,  and 
you  will  see  the  news  he  has  brought  us." 

"  I  will  as  fast  as  I  can,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  but  I  am  no  great 
clerk,  nor  does  his  lordship  seem  to  be  the  first  of  scribes." 

(The  reader  will  peruse,  in  a  few  seconds,  by  the  aid  of  our 
friend  Ballantyne's*  types,  what  took  Bucklaw  a  good  half-hour 
in  perusal,  though  assisted  by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.)  The 
tenor  was  as  follows  : — 

"  Right  Honorarle  our  Cousin, — Our  hearty  commenda- 
tions premised,  these  come  to  assure  you  of  the  interest  which 
we  take  in  your  welfare,  and  in  your  purposes  toward  its 
augmentation.  If  we  have  been  less  active  in  showing  forth 
our  effective  good-will  toward  you  than,  as  a  loving  kinsman 
and  blood-relative,  we  would  willingly  have  desired,  we  request 
that  you  will  impute  it  to  lack  of  opportunity  to  show  our 
good-liking,  not  to  any  coldness  of  our  will.  Touching  your 
resolution  to  travel  in  foreign  parts,  as  at  this  time  we  hold 
the  same  little  advisable,  in  respect  than  your  ill-willers  may, 
according  to  the  custom  of  such  persons,  impute  motives  for 
your  journey,  whereof,  although  we  know  and  believe  you  to  be 
as  clear  as  ourselves,  yet  natheless  their  words  may  find  credence 
in  places  where  the  belief  in  them  may  much  prejudice  you,  and 

*  Note  D.     The  Ballantynes. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  63 

which  we  should  see  with  more  unwillingness  and  displeasure 
than  with  means  of  remedy. 

"  Having  thus,  as  beconieth  our  kindred,  given  you  our  poor 
mind  on  the  subject  of  your  journeying  forth  of  Scotland,  we 
would  willingly  add  reasons  of  weight,  which  might  materially 
advantage  you  and  your  father's  house,  thereby  to  determine 
yju  to  abide  at  Wolf's  Crag,  until  this  harvest  season  shall  be 
passed  over.  But  what  sayeth  the  prov?ib,  verbum  sapienti, — 
Q^word  is  more  to  him  that  hath  wisdom  than  a  sermon  to  a  '/^j 
Tool. }  And  albeit  we  have  written  this  poor  scroll  with  our  own 
hand  and  are  well  assured  of  the  fidelity  of  our  messenger,  as 
him  that  is  many  ways  bounden  to  us,  yet  so  it  is,  that  sliddery 
ways  crave  wary  walking,  and  that  we  may  not  peril  upon 
paper  matters  which  we  would  gladly  impart  to  you  by  word  of 
mouth.  Wherefore,  it  was  our  purpose  to  have  prayed  you 
heartily  to  come  to  this  barren  Highland  country  to  kill  a  stag, 
and  to  treat  of  the  matters  which  we  are  now  more  painfully 
inditing  to  you  anent.  But  commodity  does  not  serve  at  pres- 
ent for  such  our  meeting,  which,  therefore,  shall  be  deferred 
until  sic  time  as  we  may  in  all  mirth  rehearse  those  things 
whereof  we  now  keep  silence.  Meantime,  we  pray  you  to  think 
that  we  are,  and  will  still  be,  your  good  kinsman  and  well- 
wisher,  waiting  but  for  times  of  whilk  we  do,  as  it  were,  enter- 
tain a  twilight  prospect,  and  appear  and  hope  to  be  also  your 
effectual  well-doer.  And  in  which  hope  we  heartily  write  ourself, 
"  Right  Honorable, 

"  Your  loving  cousin, 

"  Given  from  our  poor  house  of  B ,  etc." 

Superscribed — "  For  the  right  honorable,  and  our  honored 
kinsman,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  These,  with  haste, 
haste,  post  haste — ride  and  run  until  these  be  delivered." 

"  What  think  you  of  this  epistle,  Bucklaw  ?  "  said  the  Master, 
when  his  companion  had  hammered  out  all  the  sense,  and 
almost  all  the  words  of  which  it  consisted. 

"  Truly,  that  the  Marquis's  meaning  is  as  great  a  riddle  as 
his  manuscript.  He  is  really  in  much  need  of  Wit's  Interpreter, 
or  the  Complete  Letter  Writer,  and  were  I  you,  I  would  send 
him  a  copy  by  the  bearer.  He  writes  you  very  kindly  to  remain 
wasting  your  time  and  your  money  in  this  vile,  stupid,  oppressed 
country,  without  so  much  as  offering  you  the  countenance  and 
shelter  of  his  house.  In  my  opinion,  he  has  some  scheme  in 
riew  in  which  he  supposes  you  can  be  useful,  and  he  wishes  to 


6^  THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MMERMOOR. 

keep  you  at  hand,  to  make  use  of  you  when  it  ripens,  reserving 
the  power  of  turning  you  adrift,  should  his  plot  fail  in  the  con- 
coction." 

"  His  plot  ? — then  you  suppose  it  is  a  treasonable  business," 
answered  Ravenswood. 

"  What  else  can  it  be  ?  "  replied  Bucklaw ;  "  the  Marquis  has 
been  long  suspected  to  have  an  eye  to  Saint  Gerrnains." 

"  He  should  not  engage  me  rashly  in  such  an  adventure," 
said  Ravenswood ;  "  when  I  recollect  the  times  of  the  first  and 
second  Charles,  and  of  the  last  James,  truly,  I  see  little  reason, 
that,  as  a  man  or  a  patriot,  I  should  draw  my  sword  for  their 
descendants." 

"  Humph  ! "  replied  Bucklaw  ;  "  so  you  have  set  yourself 
down  to  mourn  over  the  crop-eared  dogs,  whom  honest  Claver'se 
treated  as  they  deserved  .''  " 

"  They  first  gave  the  dogs  an  ill  name,  and  then  hanged 
them,"  replied  Ravenswood.  "  I  hope  to  see  the  day  when  jus- 
tice shall  be  opened  to  Whig  and  Tory,  and  when  these  nick- 
names sliall  only  be  used  among  coffee-house  politicians,  as  slut 
and  jade  are  among  apple-women,  as  cant  terms  of  idle  spite 
and  rancor." 

"  That  will  not  be  in  our  days.  Master — the  iron  has  entered 
too  deeply  into  our  sides  and  our  souls." 

"It  will  be,  however,  one  day,"  replied  the  Master,  "men 
will  not  always  start  at  these  nicknames  as  at  a  trumpet  sound. 
As  social  life  is  better  protected,  its  comforts  will  become  too 
dear  to  be  hazarded  without  some  better  reason  than  speculative 
politics." 

"  It  is  fine  talking,"  answered  Bucklaw  ;  "  but  my  heart  is 
with  the  old  song, — 

To  see  good  corn  upon  the  rigs, 

And  a  gallows  built  to  hang  the  Whigs, 

And  the  rigiu  restored  where  the  right  should  be, 

O,  that  is  the  thing  that  would  wanton  me." 

"  You  may  sing  as  loudly  as  you  will,  cantahit  vacuus," — an- 
swered the  Master  ;  "  but  I  believe  the  Marquis  is  too  wise,  at 
least  too  wary,  to  join  you  in  such  a  burden.  I  suspect  he 
alludes  to  a  revolution  in  the  Scottish  Privy  Council,  rather  than 
:n  the  British  kingdoms." 

'  Oh,  confusion  to  your  state  tricks !  "  exclaimed  Bucklaw, 
"  your  cold  calculating  manoeuvres,  which  old  gentlemen  In 
wrought  nightcaps  and  furred  gowns  execute  like  so  many  games 
at  chess,  and  displace  a  treasurer  or  lord  commissioner  as  they 
would  take  a  rook  or  a  pawn.     Tennis  for  my  sport,  and  battle 


^p^ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  £5 

for  my  earnest !  My  racket  and  my  sword  for  my  plaything  and 
^Bread-winner  !  And  you,  Master,  so  deep  and  considerate  as  you 
would  seem,  you  have  that  within  you  maizes  the  blood  boil  faster 
than  suits  your  present  humor  of  moralizing  on  political  truths. 
You  are  one  of  those  wise  men  who  see  everything  with  great 
composure  till  their  blood  is  up,  and  then — woe  to  any  who 
should  put  them  in  mind  of  their  own  prudential  maxims  ! " 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ravenswood,  "you  read  me  more  rightly 
than  I  can  myself.  But  to  think  justly  will  certainly  go  some 
length  in  helping  me  to  act  so.  But,  hark  !  I  hear  Caleb  tolling 
the  dinner-bell.'' 

"  Which  he  always  does  with  the  more  sonorous  grace,  in 
proportion  to  the  meagreness  of  the  cheer  which  he  has  pro- 
vided," said  Bucklaw  ;  "  as  if  that  infernal  clang  and  jangle, 
which  will  one  day  bring  the  belfry  down  the  cliff,  could  convert 
a  starved  hen  into  a  fat  capon,  and  a  blade-bone  of  mutton  into 
a  haunch  of  venison." 

"  I  wish  we  may  be  so  well  off  as  your  worst  conjectures 
surmise,  Bucklaw,  from  the  extreme  solemnity  and  ceremony  with 
which  Caleb  seems  to  place  on  the  table  that  solitary  covered 
dish." 

"  Uncover,  Caleb  !  uncover,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  said  Buck- 
law  ;  "  let  us  have  what  you  can  give  us  without  preface — Why, 
it  stands  well  enough,  man,"  he  continued,  addressing  impa- 
tiently the  ancient  butler,  who,  without  reply,  kept  shifting  the 
dish,  until  he  had  at  length  placed  it  with  mathematical  precision 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  table. 

"  What  have  we  got  here,  Caleb  t  "  inquired  the  master  in  his 
turn. 

"  Ahem  !  sir,  j'e  suld  have  known  before  ;  but  his  honor  the 
Laird  of  Bucklaw  is  so  impatient,"  answered  Caleb,  still  holding 
the  dish  with  one  hand,  and  the  cover  with  the  other,  with  evident 
rehictance  to  disclose  the  contents. 

"  But  what  is  it,  a  God's  name — not  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  I 
hope,  in  the  border  fashion  of  old  times  !  " 

"  Ahem  !  ahem  !  "  reiterated  Caleb,  "  your  honor  is  pleased 
to  be  facetious — natheless,  I  might  presume  to  say  it  was  a 
convenient  fashion  used,  as  I  have  heard,  in  an  honorable 
and  thriving  family.  But  touching  your  present  dinner,  I 
judged  that  this  being  Saint  Magdalene's  Eve,  who  was  a  worthy 
queen  of  Scotland  in  her  day,  your  honors  might  judge  it 
decorous,  if  not  altogether  to  fast,  yet  only  to  sustain  nature 
with  some  slight  refection,  as  ane  saulted  herring  or  the  like." 
And,  uncovering  the  dish,  he  displayed  four  of  the  savory 
fishes  which  he  mentioned,  adding,  in  a  subdued  tone,   "  that 


66  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

they  were  no  just  common  herring  neither,  being  every  atiC 
melters,  and  sauted  with  uncommon  care  by  tiie  housekeepei 
(poor  Mysie)  for  his  honor's  especial  use." 

"  Out  upon  all  apologies  !"  said  the  Master,  "  let  us  eat  the 
herrings,  since  there  is  nothing  better  to  be  had — but  I  begin 
to  think  with  you,  Bucklaw,  that  we  are  consuming  the  last 
green  leaf,  and  that,  in  spite  of  the  Marquis's  political  machina- 
tions, we  must  positively  shift  camp  for  want  of  forage,  without 
waiting  the  issue  of  them." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTH. 

Ay,  and  when  huntsmen  wind  the  merry  horn. 

And  from  its  covert  starts  the  fearful  prey, 

Who,  warm'd  with  youth's  blood  in  his  swelling  veins, 

Would, like  a  lifeless  clod,  outstretched  lie, 

Shut  out  from  all  the  fair  creation  offers? 

liTHWALD,  Scene  I.  Act  L 

Light  meals  procure  light  slumbers  ;  and  therefore  it  is  not 
surprising,  that,  considering  the  fare  which  Caleb's  conscience,  or 
his  necessity,  assuming,  as  will  sometimes  happen,  that  disguise 
had  assigned  to  the  guests  of  Wolf's  Crag,  their  slumbers  should 
have  been  short. 

In  the  morning  Bucklaw  rushed  into  his  host's  apartment 
with  a  loud  halloo,  which  might  have  awaked  the  dead. 

"  Up  !  up  !  in  the  name  of  Heaven — the  hunters  are  out, 
the  only  piece  of  sport  I  have  seen  this  month  ;  and.  you  lie 
here.  Master,  on  a  bed  that  has  little  to  recommend  it,  except 
that  it  may  be  something  softer  than  the  stone  floor  of  your 
ancestor's  vault." 

'  "  I  wish,"  said  Ravenswood,  raising  his  head  peevishly,  "you 
had  forborne  so  early  a  jest,  Mr.  Hayston — it  is  really  no  pleas- 
ure to  lose  the  very  short  repose  which  I  had  just  begun  to 
enjoy,  after  a  night  spent  in  thoughts  upon  fortune  far  harder 
than  my  couch,  Bucklaw." 

"  Pshaw,  pshaw  !  "  replied  his  guest ;  "  get  up — get  up — the 
hounds  are  abroad — I  have  saddled  the  horses  myself,  for  old 
Caleb  was  calling  for  grooms  and  lackeys,  and  would  never 
have  proceeded  without  two  hours'  apology  for  the  absence  of 
men  who  were  a  hundred  miles  off. — Get  up.  Master — I  say, 
the  hounds  are  out — get  up,  I  say — the  hunt  is  up."  And  off 
ran  Bucklaw. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  67 

"And  I  say,"  said  the  Master,  rising  slowh^,  "  that  nothing 
can  concern  me  less.     Whose  hounds  come  so  near  to  us  ?  " 

•'  The  Honorable  Lord  Bittlebrains',  "  answered  Caleb,  who 
had  followed  the  impatient  Laird  of  Bucklaw  into  his  master's 
bedroom,  "and  truly  I  ken  nae  title  they  have  to  be  yowling 
and  howling  within  the  freedoms  and  immunities  of  your  lord 
ship's  right  of  free  forestry." 

"  Nor  L  Caleb,"  replied  Ravenswood,  ''excepting  that  they 
have  bought  both  the  lands  and  the  right  of  forestry,  and  may 
think  themselves  entitled  to  exercise  the  rights  they  have  paid 
their  money  for." 

"  It  may  be  sae,  my  lord,"  replied  Caleb  ;  "  but  it's  no  gen- 
tleman's deed  of  them  to  come  here  and  exercise  such  like  right, 
and  your  lordship  living  at  your  ain  castle  of  Wolf's  Crag. 
Lord  Bittlebrains  would  do  weel  to  remember  what  his  folk 
have  been." 

"  And  we  what  we  now  are,"  said  the  Master  with  suppressed 
bitterness  of  feeling.  "  But  reach  me  my  cloak,  Caleb,  and  I 
will  indulge  Bucklaw  with  a  sight  of  this  chase.  It  is  selfish  to 
sacrifice  my  guest's  pleasure  to  my  own." 

"  Sacrifice  !  "  echoed  Caleb,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  imply 
the  total  absurdity  of  his  master  making  the  least  concession 
in  deference  to  any  one — "  Sacrifice  indeed  ! — but  I  crave  your 
honor's  pardon — and  whilk  doublet  is  it  your  pleasure  to 
wear?  *' 

"Any  one  you  will,  Caleb — my  wardrobe,  I  su^Dpose,  is  not 
very  extensive." 

"  Not  extensive  !  "  echoed  his  assistant ;  "  when  there  is 
the  gray  and  silver  that  your  lordship  bestowed  on  Hew  Hilde- 
brand,  your  outrider — and  the  French  velvet  that  went  with  my 
lord  your  father — (be  gracious  to  him  !) — my  lord  your  father's 
auld  wardrobe  to  the  puir  friends  of  the  family — and  the  drap- 
deberry" 

"  Which  I  gave  to  you,  Caleb,  and  which,  I  suppose,  is 
the  only  dress  we  have  any  chance  to  come  at,  except  that  I 
wore  j^esterday — pray,  hand  me  that,  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  If  your  honor  has  a  fancy,  "  replied  Caleb,  "  and  doubt- 
less it's  a  sad-colored  suit,  and  you  are  in  mourning — never- 
theless I  have  never  tried  on  the  drap-de-berry — ill  wad  it  be- 
come me — and  your  honor  having  no  change  of  claiths  at  this 
present — and  it's  weel  brushed,  and  as  there  are  leddies  down 
yonder " — 

"  Ladies  !  "  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  and  what  ladies,  pray  ?  " 

"What  do  I  ken,  your  lordship  ? — looking  down  at  them 
from  the  Warden's  Tower,  I  could  but  see  them  glent  by  vH' 


68  THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

their  bridles  ringing,  and  their  feathers  fluttering,  like  the 
court  of  Eltiand." 

"  Well,  well,  Caleb,"  replied  the  Master,  "  help  me  on 
with  my  cloak,  and  hand  me  my  sword-belt. — What  clatter  is 
that  in  the  courtyard?  " 

"Just  Bucklaw  bringing  out  the  horses,"  said  Caleb,  after 
a  glance  through  the  window,  "  as  if  there  werena  men  eneugh  in 
the  castle,  or  as  if  I  couldna  serve  the  turn  of  ony  o'  them  that 
are  out  o'  the  gate." 

"  Alas  !  Caleb,  we  should  want  little,  if  your  ability  were 
equal  to  your  will,"  replied  his  master. 

"  And  I  hope  your  lordship  disna  want  that  muckle,"  said 
Caleb  ;  "  for,  considering  a'  things,  I  trust  we  support  the 
credit  of  the  family  as  weel  as  things  will  permit  of — only  Buck- 
law  is  aye  sae  frank  and  sae  forward. — And  there  he  has  brought 
out  your  lordship's  palfrey  without  the  saddle  being  decored  wi' 
the  broidered  sumpter-cloth  !  and  I  could  have  brushed  it  in  a 
minute." 

"  It  is  all  very  well,"  said  his  master,  escaping  from  him,  and 
descending  the  narrow  and  steep  winding  staircase,  which  led 
to  the  courtyard." 

"  It  may  be  a'  very  weel,"  said  Caleb,  somewhat  peevishly  ; 
**  but  if  your  lordship  wad  tarry  a  bit,  I  will  tell  you  what  will 
not  be  very  weel." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  said  Ravenswood,  impatiently,  but 
stopping  at  the  same  time. 

"  Why,  just  that  ye  suld  speer  ony  gentleman  hame  to  din- 
ner ;  for  I  canna  mak  anither  fast  on  a  feast  day,  as  when  I 
cam  ower  Bucklaw  wi'  Queen  Margaret — and,  to  speak  truth, 
if  your  lordship  wad  but  please  to  cast  yoursell  in  the  way  of 
dining  wi'  Lord  Bittlebrains,  I'se  warrand  I  wad  cast  about 
brawly  for  the  morn  ;  or  if,  stead  o'  that,  ye  wad  but  dine  wi' 
them  at  the  change-house,  ye  might  mak  your  shift  for  the 
lawing  ;  ye  might  say  ye  had  forgot  your  purse — or  that  the 
carline  awed  ye  rent,  and  that  ye  wad  allow  it  in  the  settle- 
ment." 

"  Or  any  other  lie  that  came  uppermost,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
his  master,  "  Good-bye,  Caleb  ;  I  commend  your  care  for 
the  honor  of  the  family."  And,  throwing  himself  on  his  horse, 
he  followed  Bucklaw,  who,  at  the  manifest  risk  of  his  neck, 
had  begun  to  gallop  down  the  steep  path  which  led  from  the 
tower,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Ravenswood  have  his  foot  in  the 
stirrup. 

Caleb  Balderstone  looked  anxiously  after  them,  and  shook 
his  thin  gray  locks — "  And  I  trust  that  they  will  come  to  no 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  69 

evil — but  they  have  reached  the  plain,  and  folk  cannot  say  but 
that  the  horse  are  hearty  and  in  spirits." 

Animated  by  the  natural  impetuosity  and  fire  of  his  tem- 
per, young  Bucklaw  rushed  on  with  the  careless  speed  of  a 
whirlwind.  Ravenswood  was  scarce  more  moderate  in  his 
pace,  for  his  was  a  mind  unwillingly  roused  from  contemplative 
inactivity ;  but  which,  when  once  put  into  motion,  acquired 
a  spirit  of  forcible  and  violent  progression.  Neither  was  his 
eagerness  proportioned  in  all  cases  to  the  motive  of  impulse, 
but  might  be  compared  to  the  speed  of  a  stone,  which  rushes 
with  like  fury  down  the  hill,  whether  it  was  first  put  in  motion  by 
the  arm  of  a  giant  or  the  hand  of  a  boy.  He  felt,  therefore,  in 
an  ordinary  degree,  the  headlong  impulse  of  the  chase,  a  pas- 
time so  natural  to  youth  of  all  ranks,  that  it  seems  rather  to  be 
an  inherent  passion  in  our  animal  nature,  which  levels  all  differ- 
ences of  rank  and  education,  than  an  acquired  habit  of  rapid 
exercise. 

The  repeated  bursts  of  the  French  horn,  which  was  then 
always  used  for  the  encouragement  and  direction  of  the  hounds 
— the  deep,  though  distant  baying  of  the  pack — the  half-heard 
cries  of  the  huntsmen — the  half-seen  forms  which  were  dis- 
covered, now  emerging  from  glens  which  crossed  the  moor,  now 
sweeping  over  its  surface,  now  picking  their  way  where  it  was 
impeded  by  morasses ;  and  above  all,  the  feeling  of  his  own 
rapid  motion,  animated  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  at  least  for 
the  moment,  above  the  recollections  of  a  more  painfvil  nature 
by  which  he  was  surrounded.  The  first  thing  which  recalled 
him  to  those  unpleasing  circumstances,  was  feeling  that  his 
horse,  notwithstanding  all  the  advantages  which  he  received 
from  his  rider's  knowledge  of  the  country,  was  unable  to  keep 
up  with  the  chase.  As  he  drew  his  bridle  up  with  the  bitter 
feeling,  that  his  poverty  excluded  him  from  the  favorite  re- 
creation of  his  forefathers,  and  indeed,  their  sole  employment 
when  not  engaged  in  military  pursuits,  he  was  accosted  by  a 
well-mounted  stranger,  who,  unobserved,  had  kept  near  him 
during  the  earlier  part  of  his  career. 

"  Your  horse  is  blown,"  said  the  man,  with  a  complaisance 
seldom  used  in  a  hunting-field,  "  Might  I  crave  your  honor  to 
make  use  of  mine  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Ravenswood,  more  surprised  than  pleased  at  such 
a  proposal,  "  I  really  do  not  know  how  I  have  merited  such  a 
favor  at  a  stranger's  hands." 

"  Never  ask  a  question  about  it,  Master,"  said  Bucklaw,  who, 
■with  great  unwillingness,  had  hitherto  reined  in  his  own  gallant 
Steed,  not  to  outride  his  host  and  entertainer.     "  Take  the  goods 


JO  THE  BRIDE  l^E  LAMMERMOOR. 

the  gods  provide  you,  as  the  great  John  Dryden  says — or  stay- 
here,  my  friend,  lend  me  that'  horse  ; — I  see  you  have  been 
puzzled  to  rein  him  up  this  half-hour.  I'll  take  the  devil  out 
of  him  for  you.  Now,  Master,  do  you  ride  mine,  which  wili 
carry  you  like  an  eagle." 

And  throwing  the  rein  of  his  own  horse  to  the  Master  ot 
Ravcnswood,  he  sprang  upon  that  which  the  stranger  resigned 
to  him,  and  continued  his  career  at  full  speed. 

"  Was  ever  so  thoughtless  a  being!  "  said  the  Master  ;  "  an  1 
you,  my  friend,  how  could  you  trust  him  with  your  horse  ?" 

'■'■  The  horse,"  said  the  man,  "  belongs  to  a  person  who  will 
make  your  honor,  or  any  of  your  honorable  friends,  most  wel- 
come to  him,  flesh  and  fell." 

"  And  the  owner's  name  is 1  "  asked  Ravenswood. 

*•'  Your  honor  must  excuse  me,  you  will  learn  that  from 
himself. — If  you  please  to  take  your  friend's  horse,  and  leave 
me  your  galloway,  I  will  meet  you  after  the  fall  of  the  stag,  for 
I  hear  they  are  blowing  him  at  bay." 

"  I  believe,  my  friend,  it  will  be  the  best  way  to  recover  your 
good  horse  for  you,"  answered  Ravenswood  ;  and  mounting  the 
nag  of  his  friend  Bucklaw  he  made  all  the  haste  in  his  power 
to  the  spot  where  the  blast  of  the  horn  announced  that  the 
stag's  career  was  nearly  terminated. 

These  jovial  sounds  were  intermixed  with  the  huntsman's, 
shouts  of  "  Hyke  a  Talbot !  Hyke  a  Teviot !  now  boys, now  !  " 
and  similar  cheering  halloos  of  the  olden  hunting-field,  to 
which  the  impatient  yelling  of  the  hounds,  now  close  on  the 
object  of  their  pursuit,  gave  a  lively  and  unremitting  chorus. 
The  straggling  riders  began  now  to  rally  toward  the  scene  of 
action,  collecting  from  different  points  as  to  a  common  centre. 

Bucklaw  kept  the  start  which  he  had  gotten,  and  arrived 
first  at  the  spot,  where  the  stag,  incapable  of  sustaining  a  more 
prolonged  flight,  had  turned  upon  the  hounds,  and,  in  the 
'hunter's  phrase,  was  at  bay.  With  his  stately  head  bent  down, 
his  sides  white  with  foam,  his  eyes  strained  betwixt  rage  and 
terror,  the  hunted  animal  had  now  in  his  turn  become  an  object 
Ol  intimidation  to  his  pursuers.  The  hunters  came  up  one  by 
one.  and  watched  an  opportunity  to  as  sailhim  with  some  ad- 
vantage, which,  in  such  circumstances,  can  only  be  done  with 
caution.  The  dogs  stood  aloof  and  bayed  loudly,  intimating  at 
oi-»ce  eagerness  and  fear,  and  each  oi  the  sportsmen  seemed  to 
expect  that  his  comrade  would  take  upon  him  the  perilous  task 
of  assaulting  and  disabling  the  animal.  The  ground,  which 
was  a  hollow  in  the  common  or  moor,  afforded  little  advantage 
for  approaching  the  stag    unobserved  ;  and    general  was  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


7> 


shout  of  triumph  when  Bucklaw,  with  the  dexterity  proper  to 
an  accompUshed  cavalier  of  the  day,  sprang  from  his  horse,  and 
dashing  suddenly  and  swiftly  at  the  stag,  brought  him  to  the 
ground  by  a  cut  on  the  hind  leg  with  his  short  hunting-sword. 
The  pack,  rushing  in  upon  their  disabled  enemy,  soon  ended 
his  painful  struggles,  and  solemnized  his  fall  with  their  clamor 
— the  hunters,  with  their  horns  and  voices,  whooping  and  blow- 
ing a  mart,  or  death-note,  which  resounded  far  over  the  billows 
of  the  adjacent  ocean. 

The  huntsman  then  withdrew  the  hounds  from  the  throttled 
stag,  and  on  his  knee  presented  his  knife  to  a  fair  female  form, 
on  a  white  palfrey,  whose  terror,  or  perhaps  her  compassion,  had 
till  then  kept  her  at  some  distance.  She  wore  a  black  silk 
riding-mask,  which  was  then  a  common  fashion,  as  well  for  pre 
serving  the  complexion  from  sun  and  rain,  as  from  an  idea  of 
decorum,  which  did  not  permit  a  lady  to  appear  barefaced  while 
engaged  in  a  boisterous  sport,  and  attended  by  a  promiscuous 
company.  The  richness  of  her  dress,  however,  as  well  as  the 
mettle  and  form  of  her  palfrey,  together  with  the  silvan  compli- 
ment paid  to  her  by  the  huntsman,  pointed  her  out  to  Bucklaw 
as  the  principal  person  in  the  field.  It  was  not  without  a  feeling 
of  pity,  approaching  even  to  contempt,  that  this  enthusiastic 
hunter  observed  her  refuse  the  huntsman's  knife,  presented  to 
her  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  first  incision  in  the  stag's 
breast,  and  thereby  discovering  the  quality  of  the  venison.  He 
felt  more  than  half  inclined  to  pay  his  compliments  to  her;  but 
it  had  been  Bucklaw's  misfortune,  that  his  habits  of  life  had  not 
rendered  him  familiarly  acquainted  with  the  higher  and  better 
classes  of  female  society,  so  that,  with  all  his  natural  audacity, 
he  felt  sheepish  and  bashful  when  it  became  necessary  to  ad- 
dress a  lady  of  distinction. 

Taking  unto  himself  heart  of  grace  (to  use  his  own  phrase), 
he  did  at  length  summon  up  resolution  enough  to  give  the  fair 
huntress  good  time  of  the  day,  and  trust  that  her  sport  had  an- 
swered her  expectation.  Her  answer  was  very  courteously  and 
modestly  expressed,  and  testified  some  gratitude  to  the  gallant 
cavalier,  whose  exploit  had  terminated  the  chase  so  adroitly, 
when  the  hounds  and  huntsmen  seemed  somewhat  at  a  stand. 

"  Uds  daggers  and  scabbard,  madam,"  said  Bucklaw,  whom 
this  observation  brought  at  once  upon  his  own  ground,  "  there 
is  no  difficulty  or  merit  in  that  matter  at  all,  so  that  a  fellow  is 
not  too  much  afraid  of  having  a  pair  of  antlers  in  his  guts.  I 
have  hunted  at  force  five  hundred  times,  madam  ;  and  I  never 
yet  saw  the  stag  at  bay,  by  land  or  water,  but  I  durst  have  gone 
roundly  in  on  him.     It  is  all  use  and  wont,  madam ;  and  I'll  tcli 


73 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


you,  madam,  for  all  that,  it  must  be  done  with  good  heed  and 
caution ;  and  yoM  will  do  well,  madam,  to  have  your  hunting- 
sword  both  right  sharp  and  double-edged,  that  you  may  strike 
either  foie-handed  or  back-lianded,  as  you  see  reason,  for  a  hurt 
with  a  buck's  horn  is  a  perilous  and  somewhat  venomous 
matter. 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  said  the  young  lady,  and  her  smile  was 
scarce  concealed  by  her  vizard,  "  I  shall  have  little  use  for  such 
careful  preparation." 

"  But  the  gentleman  says  very  right  for  all  that,  my  lady," 
said  an  old  huntsman,  who  had  listened  to  Bucklaw's  harangue 
with  no  small  edification  ;  "  and  I  have  heard  my  father  say,  who 
was  a  forester  at  the  Cabrach,  that  a  wild  boar's  gaunch  is  more 
easily  healed  than  a  hurt  from  the  deer's  horn,  for  so  says  the 
old  woodman's  rhyme — 

If  thou  be  hurt  with  horn  of  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier  ; 
But  tusk  of  boar  shall  leeches  heal — thereof  have  lesser  fear." 

"  An  I  might  advise,"  continued  Bucklaw,  who  was  now  in 
his  element,  and  desirous  of  assuming  the  whole  management, 
"  as  the  hounds  are  surbated  and  weary,  the  head  of  the  stag 
should  be  cabbaged  in  order  to  reward  them  ;  and  if  I  may  pre- 
sume to  speak,  the  huntsman,  who  is  to  break  up  the  stag,  ought 
to  drink  to  your  good  ladyship's  health  a  good  lusty  bicker  of 
ale,  or  a  tass  of  brandy  ;  for  if  he  breaks  him  up  without  drink- 
ing, the  venison  will  not  keep  well." 

This  very  agreeable  prescription  received,  as  will  be  readily 
believed,  all  acceptation  from  the  huntsman,  who,  in  requital, 
offered  to  Bucklaw  the  compliment  of  his  knife,  which  the  young 
lady  had  declined.  This  polite  proffer  was  seconded  by  his 
mistress. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  she  said,  withdrawing  herself  from  the  circle, 
"  that  my  father,  for  whose  amusement  Lord  Bittlebrains'  hounds 
have  been  out  to-day,  will  readily  surrender  all  care  of  these 
matters  to  a  gentleman  of  your  experience." 

Then,  bending  gracefully  from  her  horse,  she  wished  him 
good  morning,  and,  attended  by  one  or  two  domestics,  who 
seemed  immediately  attached  to  her  service,  retired  from  the 
scene  of  action,  to  which  Bucklaw,  too  much  delighted  with  an 
opportunit}'  of  displaying  his  wood-craft  to  care  about  man  or 
woman  either,  paid  little  attention  ;  but  was  soon  stripped  to  his 
doublet,  with  tucked-up  sleeves,  and  naked  arms  up  to  the  elbows 
in  blood  and  grease,  slashing,  cutting,  hacking,  and  hewing  with 
the  precision  of  Sir  Tristrem  himself,  and  wrangling  and  disput' 
ing  with  all  around  him  concerning  nonibles,  briskets,  flankard* 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


73 


and  ravenbones,  then  usual  terms  of  the  art  of  hunting,  or  of 
butchery,  whichever  the  reader  chooses  to  call  it,  which  are  now 
probably  antiquated. 

When  Ravenswood,  who  followed  a  short  space  behind  his 
friend,  saw  that  the  stag  had  fallen,  his  temporary  ardor  for 
the  chase  gave  way  to  that  feeling  of  reluctance  which  he  en- 
dured at  encountering  in  his  fallen  fortunes  the  gaze  whether  of 
equals  or  inferiors.  He  reined  up  his  horse  on  the  top  of  a 
gentle  eminence,  from  which  he  observed  the  busy  and  gay 
scene  beneath  htm,  and  heard  th'fe  whoops  of  the  huntsmen  gaily 
mingled  with  the  cry  of  the  dogs,  and  the  neighing  and  tramp- 
ling of  the  horses.  But  these  jovial  sounds  fell  sadly  on  the  ear 
of  the  ruined  nobleman.  The  chase,  with  all  its  train  of  ex- 
citations, has  ever  since  feudal  times  been  accounted  the  almost 
exclusive  privilege  of  the  aristocracy,  and  was  anciently  their 
chief  employment  in  times  of  peace.  The  sense  that  he  was 
excluded  by  his  situation  from  enjoying  the  silvan  sport,  which 
his  rank  assigned  to  him  as  a  special  prerogative,  and  the  feel- 
ing that  new  men  were  now  exercising  it  over  the  downs,  which 
had  been  jealously  reserved  by  his  ancestors  for  their  own 
amusement,  while  he,  the  heir  of  the  domain,  was  fain  to  hold 
himself  at  a  distance  from  their  party,  awakened  reflections  cal- 
culated to  depress  deeply  a  mind  like  Ravenswood's,  which  was 
naturally  contemplative  and  melancholy.  His  pride,  however, 
soon  shook  off  this  feeling  of  dejection,  and  it  gave  way  to  im- 
patience upon  finding  that  his  volatile  friend,  Bucklaw,  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  return  with  his  borrowed  steed,  which  Ravens- 
wood,  before  leaving  the  field,  wished  to  see  restored  to  the 
obliging  owner.  As  he  was  about  to  move  toward  the  group 
of  assembled  huntsmen,  he  was  joined  by  a  horseman,  who  like 
himself  had  kept  aloof  during  the  fall  of  the  deer. 

I'his  personage  seemed  stricken  in  years.  He  wore  a  scarlet 
cloak,  buttoning  high  up  on  his  face,  and  his  hat  was  unlooped 
and  slouched,  probably  by  way  of  defence  against  the  weather. 
His  horse,  a  strong  and  steady  palfrey,  was  calculated  for  a 
rider  who  proposed  to  witness  the  sport  of  the  day,  rather  than 
to  share  it.  An  attendant  waited  at  some  distance,  and  the 
whole  equipment  was  that  of  an  elderly  gentleman  of  rank  and 
fashion.  He  accosted  I-lavenswood  very  politel}',  but  not  with 
out  some  embarrassment. 

"  You  seem  a  gallant  young  gentleman,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and 
yet  appear  as  indifferent  to  this  brave  sport  as  if  you  had  my 
load  of  years  on  your  shoulders." 

"  I  have  followed  the  sport  with  more  spirit  on  other  occa- 
gions,"  replied  the  Master  ;  "  at  present,  late  events  in  my  family 


74  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

must  be  my  apology — and  besides,"  he  added,  "  I  was  but  itt 
differently  mounted  at  the  beginning  of  the  sport." 

"  I  think,"  said  the  stranger,  "  one  of  my  attendants  had  tha 
sense  to  accommodate  your  friend  with  a  horse." 

"  I  was  much  indebted  to  his  politeness  and  yours,"  replied 
Ravenswood.  My  friend  is  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  whom  I 
daresay  you  wili  be  sure  to  find  in  the  thick  of  the  keenest 
sportsmen.  He  will  return  your  servant's  horse,  and  take  my 
pony  in  exchange — and  will  add,"  he  concluded,  turning  his 
horse's  head  from  the  stranger,  "  his  best  acknowledgments  to 
mine  for  the  accommodation." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood,  having  thus  expressed  himself, 
began  to  move  homeward,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  has  taken 
leave  of  his  company.  But  the  stranger  was  not  so  to  be  shaken 
off.  He  turned  his  horse  at  the  same  time,  and  rode  in  the 
same  direction  so  near  to  the  Master,  that,  without  outriding 
him,  which  the  formal  civility  of  the  time,  and  the  respect  due 
to  the  stranger's  age  and  recent  civility  would  have  rendered 
improper,  he  could  not  easily  escape  from  his  company. 

The  stranger  did  not  long  remain  silent.  "  This,  then,"  he 
said,  "  is  the  ancient  Castle  of  Wolf's  Crag,  often  mentioned  in 
the  Scottish  records,"  looking  to  the  old  tower,  then  darkening 
under  the  influence  of  a  stormy  cloud, that  formed  its  background  ; 
for  at  the  distance  of  a  short  mile,  the  chase  having  been  cir- 
cuitous, had  brought  the  hunters  nearly  back  to  the  point  which 
they  had  attained,  when  Ravenswood  and  Bucklaw  had  set  for- 
ward to  join  them. 

Ravenswood  answered  this  observation  with  a  cold  and  dis- 
tant assent. 

'•  It  was,  as  I  have  heard,"  continued  the  stranger,  unabashed 
by  his  coldness,  "  one  of  the  most  early  possessions  of  the 
honorable  family  of  Ravenswood." 

"  Their  earliest  possession,"  answered  the  Master,  "  and 
probably  their  latest," 

"  I — I — I  should  hope  not,  sir,"  answered  the  stranger,  clear- 
ing his  voice  with  more  than  one  cough,  and  making  an  effort 
to  overcome  a  certain  degree  of  hesitation, — "  Scotland  knows 
what  she  owes  to  this  ancient  family,  and  remembers  their 
frequent  and  honorable  achievements.  I  have  little  doubt, 
that,  were  it  properly  represenlcd  to  her  majesty,  that  so  ancient 
and  noble  a  family  were  subjected  to  dilapidation — I  mean 
to  decay — means  might  be  found  ad  re-adijicandum  antiquam 

*'  I  will  save  you  the  trouble,  sir,  of  discussing  this  point 
further,"  interrupted  the  Master,  haughtily.     "  I  am  the  h«if 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


75 


of  that  unfortunate  house — I  am  the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 
And  you,  sir,  who  seem  to  be  a  gentleman  of  fashion  and  edu- 
cation, must  be  sensible,  that  the  next  mortification  after  being 
unhappy,  is  the  being  loaded  with  undesired  commiseration." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  elder  horseman — "  I  did 
not  know — I  am  sensible  I  ought  not  to  have  mentioned — notli- 
ing  could  be  further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  suppose" 

"  There  are  no  apologies  necessary,  sir,"  answered  Ravens 
wood,  *'  for  here,  I  suppose,  our  roads  separate,  and  I  assure 
you  that  we  part  in  perfect  equanimity  on  my  side." 

As  speaking  these  words,  he  directed  his  horse's  head  tow- 
ard a  narrow  causeway,  the  ancient  approach  to  Wolf's  Crag, 
of  which  it  might  be  truly  said,  in  the  words  of  the  Bard  of 
Hope,  that. 

Travelled  by  few  was  the  grass-cover'd  road, 
Where  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trode, 
To  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea. 

But,  ere  he  could  disengage  himself  from  his  companion,  the 
young  lady  we  have  already  mentioned  came  up  to  join  the 
stranger,  followed  by  her  servants. 

"  Daughter,"  said  the  stranger  to  the  masked  damsel,  "  this 
is  the  Master  of  Ravenswood." 

It  would  have  been  natural  that  the  gentleman  should  have 
replied  to  this  introduction  ;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
graceful  form  and  retiring  modesty  of  the  female  to  whom  he 
was  thus  presented,  which  not  only  prevented  him  from  inquir- 
ing to  whom,  and  by  whom,  the  annunciation  had  been  made, 
but  which  even  for  the  time  struck  him  absolutely  mute.  At 
this  moment  the  cloud  which  had  long  lowered  above  the  height 
on  which  Wolf's  Crag  is  situated,  and  which  now,  as  it  advanced, 
spread  itself  in  darker  and  denser  folds  both  over  land  and  sea, 
hiding  the  distant  objects,  and  obscuring  those  which  were 
nearer,  turning  the  sea  to  a  leaden  complexion,  and  the  heath  to 
a  darker  brown,  began  now,  by  one  or  two  distant  peals,  to  an- 
nounce the  thunders  with  which  it  was  fraught ;  while  two  flashes 
of  lightning,  following  each  other  very  closely,  showed  in  the 
distance  the  gray  turrets  of  Wolf's  Crag,  and,  more  nearly,  the 
rolling  billows  of  the  ocean,  crested  suddenly  with  red  and  daz- 
zling light. 

The  horse  of  the  fair  huntress  showed  symptoms  of  impa- 
tience and  restiveneis,  and  it  became  impossible  for  Ravens- 
wood, as  a  man  or  a  gentleman,  to  leave  her  abruptly  to  the 
care  of  an  aged  father  or  her  menial  attendants.  He  was,  or 
believed  himself,  obliged  in  courtesy  to  take  hold  of  her  bridle^ 


tj6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

and  assist  her  in  managing  the  unruly  animal.  While  he  was 
thus  engaged,  the  old  gentleman  observed  that  the  storm  seemed 
to  increase — that  they  were  far  from  Lord  Bittlebrains',  whose 
guests  they  were  for  the  present — and  that  he  would  be  obliged 
to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  to  point  him  the  way  to  the 
nearest  place  of  refuge  from  the  storm.  At  the  same  time,  he 
cast  a  wistful  and  embarrassed  look  toward  the  Tower  of 
Wolf's  Crag,  which  seemed  to  render  it  almost  impossible  for 
the  owner  to  avoid  offering  an  old  man  and  a  lady,  in  such  an 
emergency,  the  temporary  use  of  his  house.  Indeed,  the  condi- 
tion of  the  young  huntress  made  this  courtesy  indispensable  ; 
for,  in  the  course  of  the  services  which  he  rendered,  he  could 
not  but  perceive  that  she  trembled  much,  and  was  extremely 
agitated,  from  her  apprehensions,  doubtless,  of  the  coming 
storm. 

I  know  not  if  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  shared  her  terrors, 
but  he  was  not  entirely  free  from  something  like  a  similar  dis- 
order of  nerves,  as  he  observed,  "  The  Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag 
has  nothing  to  offer  be3-ond  the  shelter  of  its  roof,  but  if  that 
can  be  acceptable  at  such  a  moment" — he  paused,  as  if  the  res: 
of  the  invitation  stuck  in  his  throat.  But  the  old  gentleman, 
his  self-constituted  companion,  did  not  allow  him  to  recede  from 
the  invitation,  which  he  had  rather  suffered  to  be  implied  than 
directly  expressed. 

"The  storm,"  said  the  stranger,  "must  be  an  apology  for 
waiving  ceremony — his  daughter's  health  was  weak — she  had 
suffered  much  from  a  recent  alarm — he  trusted  their  intrusion 
on  the  Master  of  Ravenswood's  hospitality  would  not  be  alto- 
gether unpardonable  in  the  circumstances  of  the  case — his 
child's  safety  must  be  dearer  to  him  than  ceremony." 

There  was  no  room  to  retreat.  The  Master  of  Ravenswood 
led  the  way,  continuing  to  keep  hold  of  the  lady's  bridle  to  pre- 
vent her  horse  from  starting  at  some  unexpected  explosion  of 
thunder.  He  was  not  so  bewildered  in  his  own  hurried  reflec- 
tions, but  that  he  remarked,  that  the  deadly  paleness  which 
had  occupied  her  neck  and  temples,  and  such  of  her  features 
as  the  riding-mask  left  exposed,  gave  phice  to  a  deep  and  rosy 
suffusion  ;  and  he  felt  with  embarrassment  that  a  flush  was  by 
tacit  sympathy  excited  in  his  own  cheeks.  The  stranger,  wiih 
watchfulness  which  he  disguised  under  apprehensions  for  the 
safety  of  his  daughter,  continued  to  observe  the  expression  of 
the  Master's  countenance  as  they  ascended  the  hill  to  Wolf's 
Crag.  When  they  stood  in  front  of  that  ancient  fortress, 
Ravenswood's  emotions  were  of  a  very  complicated  description; 
and  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  rude  courtyard,  and  halloo'd  to 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  yjt 

Caleb  to  give  attendance,  there  was  a  tone  of  sternness,  almost 
of  fierceness,  which  seemed  somewhat  alien  from  the  courtesies 
of  one  who  is  receiving  honored  guests. 

Caleb  came  ;  and  not  the  paleness  of  the  fair  stranger  at 
the  first  approach  of  the  thunder,  nor  the  paleness  of  any  othei 
person,  in  any  other  circumstances  whatever,  equaled  that 
which  overcame  the  thin  cheeks  of  the  disconsolate  seneschal, 
when  he  beheld  this  accession  of  guests  to  the  castle,  and 
reflected  that  the  dinner  hour  was  fast  approaching.  "  Is  he 
daft  ?  '■■  he  muttered  to  himself, — "  is  he  clean  daft  a'thegither, 
to  bring  lords  and  leddies,  and  a  host  o'  folk  behint  them,  and 
twal-o'clock  chappit  ? "  Then  approaching  the  Master,  he 
craved  pardon  for  having  permitted  the  rest  of  his  people  to  go 
out  to  see  the  hunt,  observing,  that  "they  wad  never  think  of 
his  lordship  coming  back  till  mirk  night,  and  that  he  dreaded 
they  might  play  the  truant." 

"  Silence,  Balderston  !  "  said  Ravenswood,  sternly  ;  "  your 
folly  is  unseasonable. — Sir  and  madam,"  he  said,  turning  to  his 
guests,  "  this  old  man,  and  a  yet  older  and  more  imbecile 
female  domestic,  form  my  whole  retinue.  Our  means  of 
refreshing  you  are  more  scanty  than  even  so  miserable  a 
retinue,  and  a  dwelling  so  dilapidated,  might  seem  to  promise 
you  ;  but,  such  as  they  may  chance  to  be,  you  may  command 
them." 

The  elder  stranger,  struck  with  the  ruined  and  even  savaga 
appearance  of  the  Tower,  rendered  still  more  disconsolate  by 
the  lowering  and  gloomy  sky,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  un. 
moved  by  the  grave  and  determined  voice  in  which  their  host 
addressed  them,  looked  round  him  anxiously,  as  if  he  half  re- 
pented the  readiness  with  which  he  had  accepted  the  offered 
hospitality.  But  there  was  now  no  opportunity  of  receding 
from  the  situation  in  which  he  had  placed  himself. 

As  for  Caleb,  he  was  so  utterly  stunned  by  his  master's 
public  and  unqualified  acknowledgment  of  the  nakedness  of  the 
land,  that  for  two  minutes  he  could  only  mutter  within  his  heb- 
ilomadal  beard,  which  had  not  felt  the  razor  for  six  days,  "  He's 
daft — clean  daft — red  wud,  and  awa  wi't !  But  deil  hae  Caleb 
Balderston,"  said  he,  collecting  his  powers  of  invention  and  re 
source,  "if  the  family  shall  lose  credit,  if  he  were  as  mad  as 
the  seven  wise  masters  !  "  he  then  boldly  advanced,  and  in 
spite  of  his  master's  frowns  and  impatience,  gravely  asked,  "  if 
he  should  not  serve  up  some  slight  refection  for  the  young 
leddy,  and  a  glass  of  tokay,  or  old  sack — or  " 

"  Truce  to  this  ill-timed  foolery,"  said  the  Master,  sternlyj 


j$  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

•—"put  the  horses  into  the  stable,  and  interrupt  us  no  mora 
with  your  absurdities." 

"  Your  honor's  pleasure  is  to  be  obeyed  aboon  a'  things," 
said  Caleb  ;  "  nevertheless,  as  for  the  sack  and  tokay,  which  it 
is  not  your  noble  guests'  pleasure  to  accept  " 

But  here  the  voice  of  Bucklaw,  heard  even  above  the 
clattering  of  hoofs  and  braying  of  horns  with  which  it  mingled, 
announced  that  he  was  scaling  the  pathway  to  the  Tower  at 
the  head  of  the  greater  part  of  the  gallant  hunting  train. 

"  The  deil  be  in  me,"  said  Caleb,  taking  heart  in  spite  of 
this  new  invasion  of  Philistines,  "if  they  shall  beat  me  yet! 
The  hellicat  ne'er-do-weel  ! — to  bring  such  a  crew  here,  that 
will  expect  to  find  brandy  as  plenty  as  ditch-water,  and  he 
kenning  sae  absolutely  the  case  in  whilk  we  stand  for  the 
present !  But  I  trow,  could  I  get  rid  of  thae  gaping  gowks  of 
flunkies  that  hae  won  into  the  courtyard  at  the  back  of  their 
betters,  as  mony  a  man  gets  preferment,  I  could  make  a'  right 
yet." 

The  measures  which  he  took  to  execute  this  dauntless 
resolution  the  reader  shall  learn  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  NINTH. 

With  throat  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked. 

Agape  they  heard  him  call  ; 
Gramercy  they  for  joy  did  grin, 
And  all  at  once  th:ir  breath  drew  in. 

As  they  had  been  drinking  all  ! 

Coleridge's  "  Rime  ok  the  Ancient  Mariner." 

Hayston  of  Bucklaw  was  one  of  the  thoughtless  class  who 
never  hesitate  between  their  friend  and  their  jest.  When  it 
was  announced  that  the  principal  persons  of  the  chase  had  taken 
their  route  toward  Wolf's  Crag,  the  huntsmen,  as  a  point  of 
civility,  offered  to  transfer  the  venison  to  that  mansion  ;  a  proffer 
which  was  readily  accepted  by  Bucklaw,  who  thought  much  of 
the  astonishment  which  their  arrival  in  full  body  would  occasion 
poor  old  Caleb  Balderston,  and  very  little  of  the  dilemma  to 
which  he  was  about  to  expose  his  friend  the  Master,  so  ill  cir- 
cumstanced to  receive  such  a  party.  But  in  old  Caleb  he  had 
to  do  with  a  crafty  and  alert  antagonist,  prompt  at  supplying, 
upon  all  emergencies,  evasions  and  excuses  suitable,  as  he 
thought,  to  the  dignity  of  the  family. 


THE   BRTDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


79 


"Praise  be  blest !  "  said  Caleb  to  himself,  "  ae  leaf  of  the 
muckle  gate  has  been  swung  to  \vi'  yestreen's  wind,  and  I  think 
I  can  manage  to  shut  the  ither." 

But  he  was  desirous,  like  a  prudent  governor,  at  the  same 
time  to  get  rid,  if  possible,  of  the  internal  enemy,  in  which  light 
he  considered  almost  every  one  who  ate  and  drank,  ere  he  took 
measures  to  exclude  those  whom  their  jocund  noise  now  pro- 
nounced to  be  near  at  hand.  He  waited,  therefore,  with  impa- 
tience until  his  master  had  shown  his  two  principal  guests  into 
the  tower,  and  then  commenced  his  operations. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  to  the  stranger  menials,  "  that  as  they  ar« 
bringing  the  stag's  head  to  the  castle  in  all  honor,  we,  who  are 
in-dwellers.  should  receive  them  at  the  gate." 

The  unwary  grooms  had  no  sooner  hurried  out,  in  compliance 
with  this,  insidious  hint,  than,  one  folding-door  of  the  ancient 
gate  being  already  closed  by  the  wind,  as  has  been  already  inti- 
mated, honest  Caleb  lost  no  time  in  shutting  the  other  with  a 
clang,  which  resounded  from  donjon  vault  to  battlement.  Hav- 
ing thus  secured  the  pass,  he  forthwith  indulged  the  excluded 
huntsmen  in  brief  parley,  from  a  small  projecting  window,  or 
shot-hole,  through  which,  in  former  days,  the  warders  were  wont 
to  reconnoitre  those  who  presented  themselves  before  the  gates. 
He  gave  them  to  understand,  in  a  short  and  pithy  speech,  that 
the  gate  of  the  castle  was  never  on  any  account  opened  during 
meal-times — that  his  honor,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  and 
some  guests  of  quality,  had  just  sat  down  to  dinner — that  there 
was  excellent  brandy  at  the  hostler's  wife's  at  Wolf's  Hope 
down  below — and  he  held  out  some  obscure  hint  that  the 
reckoning  would  be  discharged  by  the  Master ;  but  this  was 
uttered  in  a  very  dubious  and  oracular  strain,  for,  like  Louis 
XIV.,  Caleb  Balderston  hesitated  to  carry  finesse  so  far  as  direct 
falsehood,  and  was  content  to  deceive,  if  possible,  without 
directly  lying. 

This  annunciation  was  received  with  surprise  by  some,  with 
laughter  by  others,  and  with  dismay  by  the  expelled  lackeys, 
who  endeavored  to  demonstrate  that  their  right  of  re-admission, 
for  the  purpose  of  waiting  upon  their  master  and  mistress,  was 
at  least  indisputable.  But  Caleb  was  not  in  a  humor  to  under- 
stand or  admit  any  distinctiotis.  He  stuck  to  his  original  pro- 
position with  that  dogged,  but  convenient  pertinacity,  which  is 
armed  against  all  conviction,  and  deaf  to  all  reasoning. 

Bucklaw  now  came  from  the  rear  of  the  party,  and  demanded 
admittance  in  a  very  angry  tone.  But  the  resolution  of  Caleb 
was  immovable. 

*'  If  the  king  on  the  throne  were  at  the  gate,"  he  declared. 


go  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"his  ten  fingers  should  never  open  itcontrairto  the  established 
nse  and  wont  of  the  family  of  Ravenswood,  and  his  duty  as  their 
head-servant/' 

Bucklaw  was  now  extremely  incensed,  and  with  more  oaths 
and  curses  than  we  care  to  repeat,  declared  himself  most  un- 
worthily treated,  and  demanded  peremptorily  to  speak  with  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  himself.  But  to  this,  also,  Caleb  turned 
a  deaf  ear, 

"  He's  as  soon  a-bleeze  as  a  tap  of  tow  the  lad  Bucklaw," 
he  said;  "but  the  deil  of  ony  master's  face  he  shall  see  till  he 
has  sleepit  and  waken'd  on't.  He'll  ken  himscU  belter  the 
morn's  morning.  It  sets  the  like  o'  him  to  be  bringing  a  crew 
of  drunken  hunters  here,  when  he  kens  there  is  but  little  prep- 
aration to  sloken  his  ain  drought."  And  he  disappeared  from 
the  window,  leaving  them  all  to  digest  their  exclusion  as  they 
best  might. 

But  another  person,  of  whose  presence  Caleb,  in  the  anima- 
tion of  the  debate,  was  not  aware,  had  listened  in  silence  to  its 
progress.  This  was  the  principal  domestic  of  the  stranger — a 
man  of  trust  and  consequence — the  same  who,  in  the  hunting- 
field,  had  accommodated  Bucklaw  with  the  use  of  his  horse. 
He  was  in  the  stable  when  Caleb  had  contrived  the  expulsion 
of  his  fellow-servants,  and  thus  avoided  sharing  the  same  fate, 
from  which  his  personal  importance  would  certainly  not  have 
otherwise  saved  him. 

This  personage  perceived  tlie  manoeuvre  of  Caleb,  easily 
appreciated  the  motive  of  his  conduct,  and  knowing  his  master's 
intentions  toward  the  family  of  Ravenswood,  had  no  difiiculty 
as  to  the  line  of  conduct  he  ought  to  adopt.  He  took  the  place 
of  Caleb  (unperceived  by  the  latter)  at  the  post  of  audience 
which  he  had  just  left,  and  announced  to  the  assembled  domes 
tics,  "  that  it  was  his  master's  pleasure  that  Lord  Bittlebrains' 
retinue  and  his  own  should  go  down  to  the  adjacent  change- 
house,  and  call  for  what  refreshments  they  might  have  occasion 
for,  and  he  should  take  care  to  discharge  the  lawing." 

The  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen  retired  from  the  inhospitable 
gate  of  Wolf's  Crag,  execrating,  as  they  descended  the  steep 
pathway,  the  niggard  and  unworthy  disposition  of  the  proprie- 
tor, and  damning,  with  more  than  silvan  license,  both  the  castle 
and  its  inhabitants.  Bucklaw,  with  many  qualities  which  would 
have  made  him  a  man  of  worth  and  judgment  in  more  favor- 
able circumstances,  had  been  so  utterly  neglected  in  point  of 
education,  that  he  was  apt  to  think  and  feel  according  to  the 
ideas  of  the  companions  of  his  pleasures.  The  praises  which 
had  recently  been  heaped  upon  himself  he  contrasted  with  the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  gi 

general  abuse  now  levelled  against  Ravenswood — he  recalled  to 
his  mind  the  dull  and  monotonous  days  he  had  spent  in  the 
Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag,  compared  with  the  joviality  of  his  usual 
life — he  felt,  with  great  indignation,  his  exclusion  from  the 
castle,  which  he  considered  as  a  gross  affront,  and  every  mingled 
feeling  led  him  to  break  off  the  union  which  he  had  formed  with 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

On  arriving  at  the  change-house  of  the  village  of  Wolf's 
Hope,  he  unexpectedly  met  with  an  old  acquaintance  just 
alighting  from  his  horse.  This  was  no  other  than  the  very 
respectable  Captain  Craigengelt,  who  immediately  came  up  to 
him,  and,  without  appearing  to  retain  any  recollection  of  the 
indifferent  terms  on  which  they  had  parted,  shook  him  by  the 
hand  in  the  warmest  manner  possible.  A  warm  grasp  of  the 
hand  was  what  Bucklaw  could  never  help  returning  with  cor- 
diality, and  no  sooner  had  Craigengelt  felt  the  pressure  of  his 
fingers  than  he  knew  the  terms  on  which  he  stood  with  him. 

"  Long  life  to  you,  Bucklaw  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  there's  life 
for  honest  folk  in  this  bad  world  yet !  " 

The  Jacobites  at  this  period,  with  what  propriety  I  know 
not,  used,  it  must  be  noticed,  the  term  of  honest  men  as  pe- 
culiarly descriptive  of  their  own  party. 

"Ay,  and  for  others  besides,  it  seems,"  answered  Bucklaw  ; 
"  otherways,  how  came  you  to  venture  hither,  noble  Captain  "i  " 

"  Who — I  ? — 1  am  as  free  as  the  wind  at  Martinmas,  that 
pays  neither  land-rent  nor  annual  ;  all  is  explained — all  settled 
with  the  honest  old  drivelers  yonder  of  Auld  Reekie — Pooh  ! 
pooh  !  they  dared  not  keep  me  a  week  of  days  in  durance.  A 
certain  person  has  better  friends  among  them  than  you  wot  of, 
and  can  serve  a  friend  when  it  is  least  likely." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  answered  Hayston,  who  perfectly  knew  and 
thoroughly  despised  the  character  of  this  man,  "  none  of  your 
c<^gg'"g  gibberish — tell  me  truly,  are  you  at  liberty  and  in 
safety  ?  " 

"  Free  and  safe  as  a  whig  bailie  on  the  causeway  of  his  own 
borough,  or  a  canting  Presbyterian  minister  in  his  own  pulpit 
— and  I  came  to  tell  you  that  you  need  not  remain  in  hiding 
any  longer." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  call  yourself  my  friend,  Captain 
Craigengelt .''  "  said  Bucklaw. 

"  Friend  ?  "  replied  Craigengelt,  "my  cock  of  the  pit  !  why, 
I  am  the  very  Achates,  man,  as  I  have  heard  scholars  say — 
hand  and  glove — bark  and  tree — thine  to  life  and  death !  " 

"  I'll  try  that  in  a  moment,"  answered  Bucklaw.  **  Thou 
art  ncTcr  without  money,  however  thou  comest  by  it.    Lend 


82  THE  PRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOK. 

me  two  pieces  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  these  honest  fellow^ 
throats  in  the  first  place,  and  then" 

"  Two  pieces  ?  twenty  are  at  thy  service,  my  lad — and 
twenty  to  back  them." 

"  Ay — say  you  so  ?  "  said  Bucklaw,  pausing,  for  his  natural 
penetration  led  him  to  suspect  some  extraordinary  motive  lay 
couched  under  such  an  excess  of  generosity.  ''  Craigengelt, 
you  are  either  an  honest  fellov/  in  right  good  earnest,  and  I 
scarce  know  how  to  believe  that — or  you  are  cleverer  than  1 
took  you  for,  and  I  scarce  know  how  to  believe  that  either." 

"Z'////  n'empechc pas  Tautn^^  said  Craigengelt,  "touch  and 
try — the  gold  is  good  as  ever  was  weighed." 

He  put  a  quantity  of  gold  pieces  into  Bucklaw's  hand, 
which  he  thrust  into  his  pocket  without  either  counting  or  look- 
ing at  them,  only  observing,  "  that  he  was  so  circumstanced 
that  he  must  enlist,  though  the  devil  offered  the  press-money  ;" 
And  then  turning  to  the  huntsmen,  he  called  out,  "  Come  along, 
my  lads — all  is  at  my  cost." 

"  Long  life  to  Bucklaw  !  "  shouted  the  men  of  the  chase. 

"  And  confusion  to  him  that  takes  his  share  of  the  sport,  and 
leaves  the  hunters  as  dry,  as  a  drum-head,"  added  another  by 
way  of  corollary." 

"  The  house  of  Ravenswood  was  ance  a  gude  and  an  honora- 
ble house  in  this  land,"  said  an  old  man,  "  but  it's  lost  its  credit 
this  day,  and  the  Master  has  shown  himself  no  better  than  a 
greedy  cullioii." 

And  with  this  conclusion,  which  was  unanimously  agreed  to 
by  all  who  heard  it,  they  rushed  timmltuousiy  into  the  house  of 
entertainment,  where  they  reveled  till  a  late  hour.  The  jovial 
temper  of  Bucklaw  seldom  permitted  him  to  be  nice  in  the 
choice  of  his  associates  ;  and  on  the  present  occasion,  when  his 
joyous  debau'.h  received  additional  zest  from  the  intervention 
of  an  unusual  space  of  sobriety,  and  almost  abstinence,  he  was 
as  happy  in  leading  the  revels,  as  if  his  comrades  had  been  sons 
of  princes.  Craigengelt  had  his  own  purposes,  in  fooling  him 
up  to  the  top  of  his  bent ;  and  having  some  low  humor,  much 
impudence,  and  the  power  of  singing  a  good  song,  understand- 
ing besides  thoroughly  the  disposition  of  his  regained  associ- 
ate, he  readily  succeeded  in  involving  him  bumper-deep  in  the 
festivity  of  the  meeting. 

A  very  different  scene  was  in  the  meantime  passing  in  the 
Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag.  When  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  left 
the  courtyard,  too  much  busied  with  his  own  perplexed  reflec- 
tions to  pay  attention  to  the  manceuvre  of  Caleb,  he  ushered 
his  guests  into  the  great  hall  of  the  castle, 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  83 

The  indefatigable  Balderston,  who,  from  choice  or  habit, 
worked  on  from  morning  to  night,  had,  by  degrees,  cleared 
this  desolate  apartment  of  the  confused  relics  of  the  funeral 
banquet,  and  restored  it  to  some  order.  But  not  all  his  skill 
and  labor,  in  disposing  to  advantage  the  little  furniture  which 
remained,  could  remove  the  dark  and  disconsolate  appearance 
of  those  ancient  and  disfurnished  walls.  The  narrow  windows, 
flanked  by  deep  indentures  into  the  wall,  seemed  formed  rather 
to  exclude  than  to  admit  the  cheerful  light ;  and  the  heavy  and 
gloomy  appearance  of  the  thunder-sky  added  still  further  to 
the  obscurity. 

As  Ravenswood,  with  the  grace  of  a  gallant  of  that  period, 
but  not  without  a  certain  stiffness  and  embarrassment  of  man- 
ner, handed  the  young  lady  to  the  upper  end  of  the  apartment, 
her  father  remained  standing  more  near  to  the  door,  as  if  about 
to  disengage  himself  from  his  hat  and  cloak.  At  this  moment 
the  clang  of  the  portal  was  heard,  a  sound  at  which  the  stranger 
started,  stepped  hastily  to  the  window,  and  looked  with  an  air 
of  alarm  at  Ravenswood,  when  he  saw  that  the  gate  of  the 
court  was  shut,  and  his  domestics  excluded. 

"You  have  nothing  to  fear,  sir,"  said  Ravenswood,  gravely  ; 
"  this  roof  retains  the  means  of  giving  protection,  though  not 
welcome.  Methinks,"  he  added,  "  it  is  time  that  I  should 
know  who  they  are  that  have  thus  highly  honored  my  ruined 
dwelling." 

The  young  lady  remained  silent  and  motionless,  and  the 
father,  to  whom  the  question  was  more  directly  addressed, 
seemed  in  the  situation  of  a  performer  who  has  ventured  to 
take  upon  himself  a  part  which  he  finds  himself  unable  to 
present,  and  who  comes  to  a  pause  when  it  is  most  to  be  ex- 
pected that  he  should  speak.  While  he  endeavored  to  cover 
his  embarrassment  with  the  exterior  ceremonials  of  a  well-bred 
demeanor,  it  was  obvious,  that,  in  making  his  bow,  one  foot 
shuffled  forward,  as  if  to  advance — the  other  backward,  as  if 
with  the  purpose  of  escape — and  as  he  undid  the  cape  of  his 
coat,  and  raised  his  beaver  from  his  face,  his  fingers  fumbled 
as  if  the  one  had  been  linked  with  rusted  iron,  or  the  other 
had  weighed  equal  with  a  stone  of  lead.  The  darkness  of  the 
sky  seemed  to  increase,  as  if  to  supply  the  want  of  those  muf- 
flings  which  he  laid  aside  with  such  evident  reluctance.  The 
impatience  of  Ravenswood  increased  also  in  proportion  to  the 
delay  of  the  stranger,  and  he  appeared  to  struggle  under  agi- 
tation, though  probably  from  a  very  different  cause.  He 
labored  to  restrain  his  desire  to  speak,  while  the  stranger,  to 
all  appearance,  was  at  a  loss  for  words  to  express  what  he  felt 


84  THE  BR  IDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

it  necessary  to  say.  At  length  Ravenswood's  impatience  broko 
the  bounds  he  had  imposed  upon  it. 

"I  perceive,"  he  said,  "that  Sir  William  Ashton  is  unwilling 
to  announce  himself  in  the  Castle  of  Wolf's  Crag." 

"  T  had  hoped  it  was  unnecessary,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper, 
relieved  from  his  silence,  as  a  spectre  by  the  voice  of  the 
exorcist;  "and  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
for  breaking  the  ice  at  once,  where  circumstances — unhappy 
circumstances,  let  me  call  them — rendered  self-introduction 
peculiarly  awkward." 

"And  am  I  not  then,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
gravely,  "  to  consider  the  honor  of  this  visit  as  purely  acci- 
dental ? " 

"  Let  us  distinguish  a  little,"  said  the  Keeper,  assuming  an 
appearance  of  ease  which  perhaps  his  heart  was  a  stranger  to ; 
"  this  is  an  honor  which  I  have  eagerly  desired  for  some  time, 
but  which  I  might  never  have  obtained,  save  for  the  accident 
of  the  storm.  My  daughter  and  I  are  alike  grateful  for  this 
opportunity  of  thanking  the  brave  man  to  whom  she  owes  her 
life  and  I  mine." 

The  hatred  which  divided  the  great  families  in  the  feudal 
times  had  lost  little  of  its  bitterness,  though  it  no  longer  ex- 
pressed itself  in  deeds  of  open  violence.  Not  the  feelings  which 
Ravenswood  had  begun  to  entertain  toward  Lucy  Ashton,  not 
the  hospitality  due  to  his  guests,  were  able  entirely  to  subdue, 
though  they  warmly  combated,  the  deep  passions  which  arose 
within  him,  at  beholding  his  father's  foe  standing  in  the  hall  of 
the  family  of  which  he  had  in  a  great  measure  accelerated  the 
ruin.  His  look  glanced  from  the  father  to  the  daughter  with 
an  irresolution,  of  which  Sir  William  Ashton  did  not  think  it 
proper  to  await  the  conclusion.  He  had  now  disembarrassed 
himself  of  his  riding  dress,  and  walking  up  to  his  daughter,  he 
undid  the  fastening  of  her  mask. 

"  Lucy,  my  love,"  he  said,  raising  her  and  leading  her  toward 
Ravenswood,  "  lay  aside  your  mask,  and  let  us  express  our 
gratitude  to  the  Master  openly  and  barefaced." 

"  If  he  will  condescend  to  accept  it,"  was  all  that  Lucy 
uttered,  but  in  a  tone  so  sweetly  modulated,  and  which  seemed 
to  im]Dly  at  once  a  feeling  and  a  forgiving  of  the  cold  reception 
to  which  they  were  exposed,  that,  coming  from  a  creature  so  in- 
nocent and  so  beautiful,  her  words  cut  Rav^enswood  to  the  very 
heart  for  his  harshness.  He  muttered  something  of  surprise, 
something  of  confusion,  and  ending  with  a  warm  and  eager  ex- 
pression of  his  happiness  at  being  able  to  afiford  her  shelter 
under  his  roof,  he  saluted  her,  as  the    ceremonial  of  the   time 


THE  BRIBE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  gj 

enjoined  upon  such  occasions.  Their  cheeks  had  touched  and 
were  withdrawn  from  each  other — Ravenswood  had  not  quit- 
ted the  hand  which  he  had  taken  in  kindly  courtesy — a  blush, 
which  attached  more  consequence  by  far  than  was  usual  to  such 
ceremony,  still  mantled  on  Lucy  Ashton's  beautiful  cheek,  when 
the  apartment  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  flash  of  lightnings 
which  seemed  absolutely  to  swallow  the  darkness  of  the  hall. 
Every  object  might  have  been  for  an  instant  seen  distinctly. 
The  slight  and  half-sinking  form  of  Lucy  Ashton,  the  well-pro- 
portioned and  stately  figure  of  Ravenswood,  his  dark  features, 
and  the  fiery,  yet  irresolute  expression  of  his  eyes, — the  old  arms 
and  scutcheons  which  hung  on  the  walls  of  the  apartment,  were 
for  an  instant  distinctly  visible  to  the  Keeper  by  a  strong  red 
brilliant  glare  of  light.  Its  disappearance  was  almost  instantly 
followed  by  a  burst  of  thunder,  for  the  storm-cloud  was  very  near 
the  castle  ;  and  the  peal  was  so  sudden  and  dreadful,  that  the 
old  tower  rocked  to  its  foundation,  and  every  inmate  concluded 
it  was  falling  upon  them.  The  soot,  which  had  not  been  dis- 
turbed for  centuries,  showered  down  the  huge  tunneled  chim- 
neys— lime  and  dust  flew  m  clouds  from  the  wall ;  and,  whether 
the  lightning  had  actually  struck  the  castle,  or  whether  through  the 
violent  concussion  of  the  air,  several  heavy  stones  were  hurled 
from  the  mouldering  battlements  into  the  roaring  sea  beneath, 
it  might  seem  as  if  the  ancient  founder  of  the  castle  were  be- 
striding the  thunderstorm,  and  proclaiming  his  displeasure  at  the 
reconciliation  of  his  descendant  with  the  enemy  of  his  house. 

The  consternation  was  general,  and  it  required  the  efforts 
of  both  the  Lord  Keeper  and  Ravenswood  to  keep  Lucy  from 
fainting.  Thus  was  the  Master  a  second  time  engaged  in  tlie 
most  delicate  and  dangerous  of  all  tasks,  that  of  affording  sup- 
port to  a  beautiful  and  helpless  being,  who,  as  seen  before  in  a 
similar  situation,  had  already  become  a  favorite  of  his  imagi- 
nation, both  when  awake  and  when  slumbering.  If  the  Genius 
of  the  House  really  condemned  a  union  betwixt  the  Master  and 
his  fair  guest,  the  means  by  which  he  expressed  his  sentiments 
were  as  unhappily  chosen  as  if  he  had  been  a  mere  mortal. 
The  train  of  little  attentions,  absolutely  necessary  to  soothe 
the  young  lady's  mind,  and  aid  her  in  composing  her  spirits 
necessarily  threw  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  into  such  an  inter- 
course with  her  father,  as  was  calculated,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
to  break  down  the  barrier  of  feudal  enmity  which  divided  them. 
To  express  himself  churlishly,  or  even  coldly,  toward  an  old 
man,  whose  daughter  (and  such  a  daughter)  lay  before  them, 
overpowered  with  natural  terror — and  all  this  under  his  own 
roof — the  thing  was   impossible  ;   and  by  the  time   that  Lucy, 


36  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

extending  a  hand  to  each,  was  able  to  thank  them  for  their 
kindness,  the  Master  felt  that  his  sentiments  of  hostility  to- 
ward the  Lord  Keeper  were  by  no  means  those  most  pre- 
dominant in  his  bosom. 

The  weather,  her  state  of  health,  the  absence  of  her  attend 
ants,  all  prevented  the  possibility  of  Lucy  Ashton  renewing 
her  journey  to  Bittlebrains  House,  which  was  full  five  miles 
distant;  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  not  but,  in 
common  courtesy,  offer  the  shelter  of  his  roof  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  and  for  the  night.  But  a  flush  of  less  soft  expression, 
a  look  much  more  habitual  to  his  features,  resumed  predomi- 
nance when  he  mentioned  how  meanly  he  was  provided  for  the 
entertainment  of  his  guests. 

"  Do  not  mention  deficiences,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  eager 
to  interrupt  him  and  prevent  his  resuming  an  alarming  topic  ; 
"  you  are  preparing  to  set  out  for  the  Continent,  and  your  house 
is  probably  for  the  present  unfurnished.  All  this  we  under- 
stand ;  but  if  you  mention  inconvenience,  you  will  oblige  us  to 
seek  accommodations  in  the  hamlet." 

As  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  was  about  to  reply,  the  door 
of  the  hall  opened,  and  Caleb  Balderston  rushed  in. 


CHAPTER  TENTH. 

Let  them  have  meat  enough,  woman — half  a  hen ; 
There  be  old  rotten  j^ilchards — put  them  off  too  ; 
'Tis  but  a  little  new  anointins;  of  th^m, 
And  a  strong  onion,  that  confounds  the  savor. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

The  thunderbolt,  which  had  stunned  all  who  were  within 
hearing  of  it,  had  only  served  to  awaken  the  bold  and  inventive 
genius  of  the  flower  of  Majors-Domo.  Almost  before  the 
clatter  had  ceased,  and  while  there  was  yet  scarce  an  assurance 
whether  the  castle  was  standing  or  falling,  Caleb  exclaimed, 
"  Heavens  be  praised  ! — this  comes  to  hand  like  the  bowl  of  a 
pint-stoup."  He  then  barred  the  kitchen  door  in  the  face  of 
the  Lord  Keeper's  servant,  whom  he  perceived  returning  from 
the  parly  at  the  gate,  and  muttering,  "  How  the  deil  camhe  in  ? 
— but  deil  may  care — Mysie,  what  are  ye  sitting  shaking  and 
greeting  in  the  chimney  neuk  for.?  Come  here— or  stay  where 
ye  are,  and  skirl  as  loud  as  ye  can — it's  a'  ye're  gude  for — ^^I 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  gy 

say,  ye  auld  deevil,  skirl — skirl — louder — louder,  woman — gar 
the  gentles  hear  ye  in  the  ha' — I  have  heard  ye  as  far  off  as  the 
Bass  for  a  less  matter.     And  stay — down  wi'  that  crockery" — • 

And  with  a  sweeping  blow,  he   threw  down  from  a  shelf 
some  articles  of  pewter  and  earthenware.     He  exalted  his  voice 
amid    the    clatter,    shouting    and    roaring   in  a  manner  which 
changed  Mysie's  hysterical  terrors  of  the  thunder  into  fears  that 
her  old  fellow-servant  was  g:one    distracted.      "  He  has  duns  ,  ^ 
down  a'  the  bits  o'  pigs  too — the  only  thing  we  had  left  to  baud  ""        « 
a  soup  milk — and  he  has  spilt  the  hatted  kitt  that  was  for  the  'aj^XA^ 
Master's  dinner.     Mercy  save  us,  the  auld  man's  gaen  clean  ^  |)    j) 
and  clear  wud  wi'  the  thunner  !"  "    '  '' 

"  Haud  your  tongue,  ye  b ! "  said  Caleb,  in  the  im- 
petuous and  overbearing  triumph  of  successful  invention,  "  a's 
provided  now — dinner  and  a'  thing — the  thunner's  done  a'  in  a 
clap  of  a  hand  !" 

"  Puir  man,  he's  muck|e_astray,"  said  Mysie,  looking  at  him 
with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  alarm  ;  "  I  wish  he  may  ever  come 
hame  to  himsell  again." 

"  Here,  ye  auld  doited  deevil,"  said  Caleb,  still  exulting  in 
his  extrication  from  a  dilemma  which  had  seemed  insurmount- 
able ;  "  keep  the  strange  man  out  of  the  kitchen — swear  the 
thunner  came  down  the  chimney,  and  spoiled  the  best  dinner  ye 

ever  dressed — beef — bacon — kid — lark — leveret — wild  fowl 

venison,  and  what  not.  Lay  it  on  thick,  and  never  mind  ex- 
penses. I'll  awa  up  to  the  ha' — make  a'  the  confusion  ye  can 
— but  be  sure  ye  keep  out  the  strange  servant." 

With  these  charges  to  his  ally,  Caleb  posted  up  to  the  hall, 
but  stopping  to  reconnoitre  through  an  aperture,  which  time,  for 
the  convenience  of  many  a  domestic  in  succession,  had  made 
in  the  door,  and  perceiving  the  situation  of  Miss  Ashton,  he  had 
prudence  enough  to  make  a  pause,  both  to  avoid  adding  to  her 
alarm,  and  in  order  to  secure  attention  to  his  account  of  the 
disastrous  effects  of  the  thunder. 

But  when  he  perceived  that  the  lady  was  recovered,  and 
heard  the  conversation  turn  upon  the  accommodation  and  re- 
freshment which  the  castle  afforded,  he  thought  it  time  to  burst 
'nto  the  room  in  the  manner  announced  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  Wull  a  wins  ! — such  a  misfortune  to  befa'  the  House  of 
Ravenswood,  and  I  to  live  to  see  it  !  " 

"What  is  the  matter,  Caleb  ?"  said  his  master,  somewhat 
alarmed  in  his  turn  ;  "  has  any  part  of  the  castle  fallen  .?  " 

"  Castle  fa'en  ? — na,  but  the  sute's  fa'en,  and  the  thunner's 
come  right  down  the  kitchen-lum,  and  the  things  are  a'  lying 
here  awa,  there  awa,  like  the  Laird  o'  Hotchpotch's  lands — and 


88  THE  DRTDE  OF  LAMMERAWOR. 

wi'  brave  guests  of  honor  and  quality  to  entertain  " — a  low  bo\i 
here  to  Sir  William  Ashton  and  his  daughter — "  and  naeihin 
left  in  the  house  fit  to  present  for  dinner — or  for  supper  either 
for  aught  that  I  can  see  !  " 

"  I  verily  believe  you,  Caleb,"  said  Ravenswood,  dryly, 

Balderston  here  turned  to  his  master  a  half-upbraiding,  half- 
imploring  countenance,  and  edged  toward  him  as  he  repeated, 
"  It  was  nae  great  matter  of  preparation  ;  but  just  something 
added  to  your  honor's  ordinary  course  of  fare — petty  cover,  as 
they  say  at  the  Louvre — three  courses  and  the  fruit." 

"  Keep  your  intolerable  nonsense  to  yourself,  you  old  fool !  " 
said  Ravenswood,  mortified  at  his  ofificiousness,  yet  not  knowing 
how  to  contradict  him,  without  the  risk  of  giving  rise  to  scenes 
yet  more  ridiculous, 

Caleb  saw  his  advantage,  and  resolved  to  improve  it.  But 
first  observing  that  the  Lord  Keeper's  servant  entered  the  apart- 
ment and  spoke  apart  with  his  master,  he  took  the  same  oppor- 
tunity to  whisper  a  few  words  into  Ravenswood's  ear — "  Haud 
your  tongue,  for  Heaven's  sake,  sir — if  it's  my  pleasure  to 
hazard  my  soul  in  telling  lees  for  the  honor  of  the  family,  it's 
nae  business  o'  yours — and  if  ye  let  me  gang  on  quietly,  I'se  be 
moderate  in  my  banquet ;  but  if  ye  contradict  me,  deil  but  I 
dress  ye  a  dinner  fit  for  a  duke  !  " 

Ravenswood,  in  fact,  thought  it  would  be  best  to  let  his 
officious  butler  run  on,  who  proceeded  to  enumerate  upon  his 
fingers, — "  Nomuckle  provision — might  hae  served  four  persons 
of  honor, — first  course,  capons  in  white  broth — roast  kid — 
bacon  with  reverence, — second  course,  roasted  leveret — butter 
crabs — a  veal  florentine, — third  course,  black-cock — it's  black 
enough  now  wi'  the  sute — plumdamas — a  tart — a  flam — and 
some  nonsense  sweet  things,  and  comfits — and  that's  a',"  he 
said,  seeing  the  impatience  of  his  master ;  "  that's  just  a'  was 
o't — forby  the  apples  and  pears." 

Miss  Ashton  had  by  degrees  gathered  her  spirits,  so  far  as 
to  pay  some  attention  to  what  was  going  on  ;  and  observing 
the  restrained  impatience  of  Ravenswood,  contrasted  with  the 
peculiar  determination  of  manner  with  which  Caleb  detailed  hi.s 
imaginary  banquet,  the  whole  struck  her  as  so  ridiculous,  that, 
despite  every  elTort  to  the  contrary,  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  un- 
controllable laughter,  in  which  she  was  joined  by  her  father, 
though  with  more  moderation,  and  finally  by  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  himself,  though  conscious  that  the  jest  was  at  his 
own  expense.  Their  mirth — for  a  scene  which  we  read  with 
little  emotion  often  appears  extremely  ludicrous  to  the  spectators 
—made  the  old  vault  ring  again.     They  ceased — they  renewed 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMORMOOR.  ^q 

— they  ceased — they  renewed  again  their  shouts  of  laughter ! 
Caleb,  in  the  meantime,  stood  his  ground  with  a  grave,  angry, 
and  scornful  dignity,  which  greatly  enhanced  the  ridicule  of  the 
scene,  and  the  mirth  of  the  spectators. 

At  length,  when  the  voices,  and  nearly  the  strength  of  the 
laughers,  were  exhausted,  he  exclaimed,  with  very  little  cere- 
mony, "  The  deil's  in  the  gentles  !  they  breakfast  sae  lordly,  that 
the  loss  of  the  best  dinrer  ever  cook  pat  fingers  to,  makes  them 
as  merry  as  if  it  were  th^  best  jeest  in  a'  George  Buchanan.* 
If  there  was  a  little  in  your  honors'  wames,  as  there  is  in  Caleb 
Balderston's,  less  caickling  wad  serve  ye  on  sic  a  gravaminous 
subject." 

Caleb's  blunt  expression  of  resentment  again  awakened  the 
mirth  of  the  company,  which,  by  the  way,  he  regarded  not  only 
as  an  aggression  upon  the  dignity  of  the  family,  but  a  special 
contempt  of  the  eloquence  with  which  he  himself  had  sum- 
med up  the  extent  of  their  supposed  losses ; — "  a  description 
of  a  dinner,  "  as  he  said  afterward  to  Mysie,  "  that  wad  hae 
made  a  fu'  man  hungry,  and  them  to  sit  there  laughing  at  it  ! " 

"  But,"  said  Miss  Ashton,  composing  her  countenance  as 
well  as  she  could,  "  are  all  these  delicacies  so  totally  destroyed, 
that  no  scrap  can  be  collected  ?  " 

"  Collected,  my  leddy  !  what  wad  ye  collect  out  of  the  sute 
and  the  ass  ?  Ye  may  gang  down  yoursell,  and  look  into  our 
kitchen — the  cookmaid  in  the  trembling  exies — the  gude  vivers 
lying  a'  about — beef — capons  and  white  broth — florentine  and 
flams — bacon,  wi'  reverence,  and  a'  the  sweet  confections  and 
whim-whams  !  ye'll  see  them  a',  my  leddy — that  is, "  said  he, 
correcting  himself,  "  ye'll  no  see  ony  of  them  now,  for  the  cook 
has  soopit  them  up,  as  was  weel  her  part ;  but  ye'll  see  the  white 
broth  where  it  was  spilt.  I  pat  my  fingers  in  it,  and  it  tastes 
as  like  sour-milk  as  ony  thing  else  ;  if  that  isna  the  effect  of 
thunner,  I  kenna  what  is. — This  gentleman  here  couldna  but 
hear  the  clash  of  our  haill  dishes,  china  and  silver  thegither  ?  " 

The  Lord  Keeper's  domestic,  though  a  statesman's  attend- 
ant, and  of  course  trained  to  command  his  countenance  upon 
all  occasions,  was  somewhat  discomposed  by  this  appeal,  to 
which  he  only  answered  by  a  bow. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  who  began 
to  be  afraid  lest  the  prolongation  of  this  scene  should  at  length 
displease  Ravenswood, — "  I  think,  that  were  you  to  retire  with 

*  [Referring  probably  to  a  popular  chap-book,  entitled  "  The  witty  and 
entertaining  Exploits  of  George  P.uchanan,  who  was  commonly  called  the 
King's  Fool ;  the  whole  six  parts  complete,"  17S1.  This  character  was 
)ester  to  Charles  I.  and  must  not  be  mistaken  for  his  learned  namesake.] 


90 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


my  servant  Lockhard — he  has  traveled,  and  is  quite  accustomed 
to  accidents  and  contingencies  of  every  kind,  and  I  hope 
betwixt  you,  you  may  find  out  some  mode  of  supply  at  this 
emergency." 

"  His  honor  kens," —  said  Caleb,  who,  however  hopeless 
of  himself  of  accomplishing  what  was  desirable,  would,  like  the 
high-spirited  elephant,  rather  have  died  in  the  effort  than 
brooked  the  aid  of  a  brother  in  commission. — "  his  honor  kens 
weel  I  need  nae  counselor  when  the  honor  of  the  house  is  con- 
cerned." 

"  I  should  be  unjust  if  I  denied  it,  Caleb,"  said  his  master ; 
"  but  your  art  lies  chiefly  in  making  apologies,  upon  which  we 
can  no  more  dine,  than  upon  the  bill  of  fare  of  our  thunder- 
blasted  dinner.  Now,  possibly,  Mr.  Lockhard's  talent  may 
consist  in  finding  some  substitute  for  that,  which  certainly  is 
not,  and  has  in  all  probability  never  been." 

"  Your  honor  is  pleased  to  be  facetious,"  said  Caleb,  "  but 
I  am  sure,  that  for  the  w^arst,  for  a  walk  as  far  as  Wolf's  Hope, 
I  could  dine  forty  men, — no  that  the  folk  there  deserve  your 
honor's  custom.  They  hae  been  ill  advised  in  the  matter  of  the 
duty-eggs  and  butter,  I  winna  deny  that." 

"  Do  go  consult  together,"  said  the  Master ;  "  go  down  to 
the  village,  and  do  the  best  you  can.  We  must  not  let  our  guests 
remain  without  refreshment,  to  save  the  honor  of  a  ruined 
family.  And  here,  Caleb — take  my  purse  ;  I  believe  that  will 
prove  your  best  ally." 

"  Purse  ?  purse,  indeed  ?  "  quoth  Caleb,  indignantly  flinging 
out  of  the  room, — "  what  suld  I  do  wi'  your  honor's  purse,  on 
your  ain  ground  ?     I  trust  we  are  no  to  pay  for  our  ain  ?  " 

The  servants  left  the  hall  ;  and  the  door  was  no  sooner 
shut,  than  the  Lord  Keeper  began  to  apologize  for  the  rudeness 
of  his  mirth  ;  and  Lucy  to  hope  she  had  given  no  pain  or  offence 
to  the  kind-hearted  faithful  old  man. 

"  Caleb  and  I  must  both  learn,  madam,  to  undergo  with 
good  humor,  or  at  least  with  patience,  the  ridicule  which  every- 
where attaches  itself  to  poverty." 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice.  Master  of  Ravenswood,  on  my 
word  of  honor,"  answered  his  elder  guest.  "  I  believe  I  know 
more  of  your  affairs  than  you  do  yourself,  and  I  hope  to  show 
you  that  I  am  interested  in  them  ;  and  that — in  short,  that  your 
prospects  are  better  than  you  apprehend.  In  the  meantime,  I 
can  conceive  nothing  so  respectable,  as  the  spirit  which  rises 
above  misfortune,  and  prefers  honorable  privations  to  debt  or 
dependence." 

Whether  from  fear  of  offending  the  delicacy,  or  awakening 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


91 


the  pride  of  the  Master,  the  Lord  Keeper  made  these  allusions 
with  an  appearance  of  fearful  and  hesitating  reserve,  and  seemed 
to  be  afraid  that  he  was  intruding  too  far,  in  venturing  to  touch, 
however  lightly,  upon  such  a  topic,  even  when  the  Master  had 
led  to  it.  In  short,  he  appeared  at  once  pushed  on  by  his 
desire  of  appearing  friendly,  and  held  back  by  the  fear  of  in- 
trusion. It  was  no  wonder  that  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
little  acquainted  as  he  then  was  with  life,  should  have  given  this 
consummate  courtier  credit  for  more  sincerity  than  was  prob- 
ably to  be  found  in  a  score  of  his  cast.  He  answered,  however, 
with  reserve,  that  he  was  indebted  to  all  who  might  think  well  of 
him  ;  and,  apologizing  to  his  guests,  he  left  the  hall,  in  order 
to  make  such  arrangements  for  their  entertainment  at  circum- 
stances admitted. 

Upon  consulting  with  old  Mysie,  the  accommodations  for 
the  night  were  easily  completed,  as  indeed  they  admitted  of 
little  choice.  The  Master  surrendered  his  apartment  for  the 
use  of  Miss  Ashton,  and  Mysie  (once  a  person  of  consequence), 
dressed  in  a  black  satin  gown  which  had  beloriged  of  yore  to 
the  Master's  grandmother,  and  had  figured  in  the  court-balls  of 
Henrietta  Maria,  went  to  attend  her  as  lady's  maid.  He  next 
inquired  after  Bucklaw,  and  understanding  he  was  at  the 
change-house  with  the  huntsmen  and  some  companions,  he  de- 
sired Caleb  to  call  there,  and  acquaint  him  how  he  was  circum- 
stanced at  Wolf's  Crag — to  intimate  to  him  that  it  would  be 
most  convenient  if  he  could  find  a  bed  in  the  hamlet,  as  the 
elder  guest  must  necessarily  be  quartered  in  the  secret  chamber, 
the  only  spare  bedroom  which  could  be  made  fit  to  receive 
him.  The  Master  saw  no  hardship  in  passing  the  night  by  the 
hall-fire,  wrapt  in  his  campaign  cloak  ;  and  to  Scottish  domes- 
tics of  the  day,  even  of  the  highest  rank,  nay,  to  young  men  of 
family  or  fashion,  on  any  pinch,  clean  straw,  or  a  dry  hay-loft, 
was  always  held  good  night-quarters. 

For  the  rest,  Lockhard  had  his  master's  orders  to  bring 
some  venison  from  the  inn,  and  Caleb  was  to  trust  to  his  wits 
for  the  honor  of  his  family.  The  Master,  indeed,  a  second 
time  held  out  his  purse  ;  but,  as  it  was  in  sight  of  the  strange 
servant,  the  butler  thought  himself  obliged  to  decline  what  his 
fingers  itched  to  clutch.  "  Couldna  he  hae  slippit  it  gently  into 
my  hand  ?  "  said  Caleb — "  but  his  honor  will  never  learn  how 
to  bear  himsell  in  siccan  cases." 

Mysie,  in  the  meantime,  according  to  a  uniform  custom  in 
remote  places  in  Scotland,  offered  the  strangers  the  produce  of 
her  little  dairy,  "  while  better  meat  was  getting  ready."  And, 
according  to  another  custom,  not  yet  wholly  in  desuetude,  as 


92 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


the  storm  was  now  drifting  off  to  leeward,  the  Master  carried 
the  Keeper  to  the  top  of  his  highest  tower  to  admire  a  wide 
and  waste  extent  of  view,  and  to  "  weary  for  his  dinner." 


CHAPTER    ELEVENTH. 

"  Now  dame,"  quoth  he,  "  Je  vous  dis  sans  doute, 
Had  I  nought  of  a  capon  but  the  liver, 
And  of  your  white  bread  nought  but  a  shiver. 
And  after  that  a  roasted  pigge's  head 
(But  I  ne  wold  for  me  no  Ijeast  were  dead), 
Then  had  I  with  you  homely  sufferaunce." 

Chaucer,  Sumner's  Tale. 

It  was  not  without  some  secret  misgivings  that  Caleb  set  ou'; 
upon  his  exploratory  expedition.  In  fact,  it  was  attended  with 
a  treble  difficulty.  He  dared  not  tell  his  master  the  offence 
which  he  had  that  morning  given  to  Bucklaw  (just  for  the 
honor  of  the  family) — he  dared  not  acknowledge  he  had  been 
too  hasty  in  refusing  the  purse — and,  thirdly,  he  was  somewhat 
apprehensive  of  unpleasant  consequences  upon  his  meeting 
Hayston,  under  the  impression  of  an  affront,  and  probably  by 
this  time  under  the  influence  also  of  no  small  quantity  of 
brandy, 

Caleb,  to  do  him  justice,  was  as  bold  as  any  lion  where  the 
honor  of  the  family  of  Ravenswood  was  concerned  ;  but  his 
was  that  considerate  valor  which  does  not  delight  in  unneces- 
sary risks.  This,  however,  was  a  secondary  consideration  the 
main  point  was  to  veil  the  indigence  of  the  housekeeping  at 
the  castle,  and  to  make  good  his  vaunt  of  the  cheer  which  his 
resources  could  procure,  without  Lockhard's  assistance,  and 
without  supplies  from  his  master.  This  was  as  prime  a  point 
of  honor  with  him,  as  with  the  generous  elephant  with  whom 
we  have  already  compared  him,  who,  being  overtasked,  brok. 
his  skull  through  the  desperate  exertions  which  he  made  to 
discharge  his  duty,  when  he  perceived  they  were  bringing  up 
another  to  his  assistance. 

The  village  which  they  now  approached  had  frequently 
afforded  the  distressed  butler  resources  upon  similar  emergen- 
cies:  but  his  relations  with  it  had  been  of  late  much  altered. 

It  was  a  little  hamlet  which  straggled  along  the  side  of  a 
creek  formed  by  the  discharge  of  a  small  brook  into  the  sea. 
and  was  hidden  from  the  castle,  to  which  it  had  been  in  formci 


THE  BR  WE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.        ^    "juX^v, 

times  an  appendage,  by  the  intervention  of  the  shoulder  of  a 
hill  forming  a  projecting  headland.  It  was  called  Wolf's  Hope, 
(/.<•,  Wolf's  Haven),  and  the  few  inhabitants  gained  a  precarious 
subsistence  by  manning  two  or  three  fishing-boats  in  the  her- 
ring season,  and  smuggling  gin  and  brandy  during  the  winter 
months.  They  paid  a  kind  of  hereditary  respect  to  the  T>ords 
of  Ravenswood ;  but,  in  the  dithculties  of  the  family,  most  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Wolf's  Hope  had  contrived  to  get  feu-rights* 
to  their  little  possessions,  their  huts,  kail-yards,  and  rights  of 
commonty,  so  that  they  were  emancipated  from  the  chains  of 
feudal  dependence,  and  free  from  the  various  exactions  with 
which,  under  every  possible  pretext,  or  without  any  pretext  at 
all,  the  Scottish  landlords  of  the  period,  themselves  in  great 
poverty,  were  wont  to  harass  their  still  poorer  tenants  at  will. 
They  might  be,  on  the  whole,  termed  independent,  a  circum- 
stance peculiarly  galling  to  Caleb,  who  had  been  wont  to  exer- 
cise over  them  the  same  sweeping  authority  in  levying  con- 
tributions which  was  exercised  in  former  times  in  England, 
when  "  the  royal  purveyors,  sallying  forth  from  under  the  Gothic 
portcullis  to  purchase  provisions  with  power  and  prerogative 
instead  of  money,  brought  home  the  plunder  of  a  hundred 
markets,  and  all  that  could  be  seized  from  a  flying  and  hiding 
country  and  deposited  their  spoil  in  a  hundred  caverns. "f 

Caleb  loved  the  memory  and  resented  the  downfall  of  tha'; 
authority,  which  municked,  on  a  petty  scale,  the  grand  contri- 
butions exacted  by  the  feudal  sovereigns.  And  as  he  fondly 
flattered  himself  that  the  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy  which 
assigned  to  the  Barons  of  Ravenswood  the  first  and  most  effec- 
tive interest  .n  all  productions  of  nature  within  five  miles  of  their 
castle,  only  slumbered,  and  was  not  departed  forever,  he  used 
every  now  and  then  to  give  the  recollection  of  the  inhabitants  a 
hule  jog  by  some  petty  exaction.  These  were  at  first  submitted 
to,  with  more  or  less  readiness,  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  hamlet ; 
for  they  had  been  so  long  used  to  consider  the  wants  of  the 
IJaron  and  his  family  as  having  a  title  to  be  preferred  to  their 
ovvn  that  their  actual  independence  did  not  convey  to  them  an 
immediate  sense  of  freedom.  They  resembled  a  man  that  has 
been  long  fettered,  who,  even  at  liberty,  feels  in  imagination  the 
grasp  of  the  handcuffs  still  binding  his  wrists.  But  the  ex- 
ercise of  freedom  is  quickly  followed  with  the  natural  conscious- 
ness of  its  immunities,  as  an  enlarged  prisoner,  by  the  free  use 

*  That  is,  absolute  rights  of  property  for  the  payment  of  a  sum  annually. 
v-hich  is  usually  a  trifle  in  such  cases  as  are  alluded  to  in  the  text. 
tP.urke's  Speech  on  Economical  Reform. —  Works,  vol.  iii   p.  2sp. 


94 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


of  his  limbs,  soon  dispels  the  cramped  feeling  they  had  acquired 
when  bound. 

The  inhabitants  of  Wolf's  Hope  began  to  grumble,  to  resist, 
and  at  length  positively  to  refuse  compliance  with  the  exactions 
of  Caleb  Balderston,  It  was  in  vain  he  reminded  them,  that 
when  the  eleventh  Lord  Ravenswood,  called  the  Skipper,  from, 
his  delight  in  naval  matters,  had  encouraged  the  trade  of  their 
port  by  building  the  pier  (a  bulwark  of  stones  rudely  piled  to- 
gether), which  protected  the  fishing-boats  from  the  weather,  it 
;had  been  matter  of  understanding,  that  he  was  to  have  the  first 
[Stone  of  butter  after  the  calving  of  every  cow  within  the  barony, 
|and  the  first  egg,  thence  called  the  Monday's  egg,  laid  by  every 
■  hen  on  every  Monday  in  the  year. 

The  feuars  heard  and  scratched  their  heads,  coughed, 
sneezed,  and  being  pressed  for  answer,  rejoined  with  one  voice, 
"They  could  not  say;" — the  universal  refuge  of  a  Scottish 
peasant,  when  pressed  to  admit  a  claim  which  his  conscience 
owns,  or  perhaps  his  feelings,  and  his  interest  inclines  him  to 
deny. 

Caleb,  however,  furnished  the  notables  of  Wolf's  Hope  with 
a  note  of  the  requisition  of  butter  and  eggs,  which  he  claimed 
as  arrears  of  the  aforesaid  subsidy,  or  kindly  aid,  payable  as 
above  mentioned  ;  and  having  intimated  that  he  would  not  be 
averse  to  compound  the  same  for  goods  or  money,  if  it  was  in- 
convenient to  them  to  pay  in  kind,  left  them,  as  he  hoped,  to  de- 
bate the  mode  of  assessing  themselves  for  that  purpose.  On  the 
contrary,  they  met  with  a  determined  purpose  of  resisting  the 
exaction,  and  were  only  undecided  as  to  the  mode  of  grounding 
their  opposition,  when  the  cooper,  a  very  important  person  on 
a  fishing  station,  and  one  of  the  Conscript  Fathers  of  the  vil- 
lage, observed,  "  That  their  hens  had  caickled  mony  a  day  for 
the  Lords  of  Ravenswood,  and  it  was  time  they  suld  caickle  for 
those  that  gave  them  roosts  and  barley."  A  unanimous  grin 
intimated  the  assent  of  the  assembly.  "And,"  continued  the 
orator,  "  if  it's  your  wull,  I'll  just  tak  a  step  as  far  as  Dunse  for 
Davie  Dingwall  the  writer,  that's  come  frae  the  North  to  settle 
amang  us,  and  he'll  pit  this  job  to  rights,  I'se  warrant  him." 

A  day  was  accordingly  fixed  for  holding  a  grand  palaver  at 
Wolf's  Hope  on  the  subject  of  Caleb's  requisitions,  and  he  was 
invited  to  attend  at  the  hamlet  for  that  purpose. 

He  went  with  open  hands  and  empty  stomach,  trusting  to 
fill  the  one  on  his  master's  account,  and  the  other  on  his  own 
score,  at  the  expense  of  the  feuars  of  Wolf's  Hope.  But,  death 
to  his  hopes  !  as  he  entered  the  eastern  end  of  the  straggling 
village,  the  awful  form  of  Davie  Dingwall,  a  sly,  dry,  hard- 


IujA^  'I^QaXi 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  o-C- 

fisted  shrewd  country  attorney,  who  had  already  acted  against  ,^  ■^ 
the  family  of  Ravenswood,  and  was  a  principal  agent  of  Sir  '  "^ 
William  Ashton,  trotted  in  at  the  western  extremity,  bestriding 
a  leathern  portmanteau  stuffed  with  the  feu-charters  of  the 
hamlet,  and  hoping  he  had  not  kept  Mr.  Balderston  waiting, 
"  as  he  was  instructed  and  fully  empowered  to  pay  or  receive, 
compound  or  compensate,  and,  in  fine,  to  age*  as  accords, 
respecting  all  mutual  and  unsettled  claims  whatsoever,  belong- 
ing or  competent  to  the  Honorable  Edgar  Ravenswood,  com- 
monly called  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  " 

"The  Right  Honorable  Edgar  Lord  Ravensjoood"  said 
Caleb,  with  great  emphasis ;  for,  though  conscious  he  had  little 
chance  of  advantage  in  the  conflict  to  ensue,  he  was  resolved 
not  to  sacrifice  one  jot  of  honor,  "  Lord  Ravenswood,  then," 
said  the  man  of  business  :  "  we  shall  not  quarrel  with  you  about 
titles  of  courtesy — commonly  called  Lord  Ravenswood,  or  Mas- 
ter of  Ravenswood,  heritable  proprietor  of  the  lands  and  barony 
of  Wolf's  Crag,  on  the  one  part,  and  to  John  Whitefish  and 
others,  feuars  in  the  town  of  Wolf's  Hope,  within  the  barony 
aforesaid,  on  the  other  part." 

Caleb  was  conscious,  from  sad  experience,  that  he  would 
wage  a  very  different  strife  wdth  this  mercenary  champion,  than 
with  the  individual  feuars  themselves,  upon  whose  old  recollec- 
tions, predilections,  and  habits  of  thinking,  he  might  have 
wrought  by  a  hundred  indirect  arguments,  to  which  their 
deputy-representative  was  totally  insensible.  The  issue  of  the 
debate  proved  the  reality  of  his  apprehensions.  It  was  in  vain 
he  strained  his  eloquence  and  ingenuity,  and  collected  into  one 
mass  all  arguments  arising  from  antique  custom  and  hereditary 
respect,  from  good  deeds  done  by  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  to 
the  community  of  Wolf's  Hope  in  former  days,  and  from  what 
might  be  expected  from  them  in  future.  The  writer  stuck  to 
the  contents  of  his  feu-charters — he  could  not  see  it — 'twas  not 
in  the  bond.  And  when  Caleb,  determined  to  try  what  a  little 
spirit  would  do,  deprecated  the  consequences  of  Lord  Ravens- 
wood's  withdrawing  his  protection  from  the  burgh,  and  even 
hinted  at  his  using  active  measures  of  resentment,  the  man  of 
law  sneered  in  his  face. 

"  His  clients,"  he  said,  "  had  determined  to  do  the  best  they 
could  for  their  own  town,  and  he  thought  Lord  Ravenswood, 
since  he  was  a  lord,  might  have  enough  to  do  to  look  after  his 
own  castle.  As  to  any  threats  of  stouthrief  oppression,  by  rule 
of  thumb,  or  via  facfi,   as  the   law  termed  it,   he  would  have 

*i,e.  To  act  as  may  be  necessary  and  legal  :  a  Scottish  law  phrase. 


56  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Mr.  Balderston  recollect,  that  new  times  were  not  as  old  times 
— that  they  lived  in  the  south  of  the  Forth,  and  far  from  the 
Highlands — that  his  clients  thought  they  were  able  to  protect 
themselves;  but  should  they  find  themselves  mistaken,  the^^ 
would  apply  to  ihe  government  for  the  protection  of  a  corporal 
and  four  red-coats,  who,"  said  Mr.  Dingwall,  with  a  grin; 
"  would  be  perfectly  able  to  secure  them  against  Lord  Ravens- 
wood,  and  all  that  he  or  his  followers  could  do  by  the  strong 
hand." 

If  Caleb  could  have  concentrated  all  the  lightnings  of  aris- 
tocracy in  his  eye,  to  have  struck  dead  this  contemner  of  allegi- 
ance and  privilege,  he  would  have  launched  them  at  his  head, 
without  respect  to  the  consequences.  As  it  was,  he  was  com- 
pelled to  turn  his  course  backward  to  the  castle  ;  and  there  he 
remained  for  full  half-a-day  invisible  and  inaccessible  even  to 
Mysie,  sequestered  in  his  own  peculiar  dungeon,  where  he  sat 
burnishing  a  single  pewter-plate,  and  whistling  "Maggie  Lauder" 
six  hours  without  intermisson.  ■*''.A 

The  issue  of  this  unfortunate  requisition  had  shut  against , , 
Caleb  all  resources  which  could  be  derived  from  Wolf's  Hope 
and  its  purlieus,  the  El  Dorado,  or  Peru,  from  which,  in  all 
former  cases  of  exigence,  he  had  been  able  to  extract  some 
assistance.  He  had,  indeed,  in  a  manner,  vowed  that  the  deil  • 
should  have  him,  if  ever  he  put  the  print  of  his  foot  within  its 
causeway  again.  He  had  hitherto  kept  his  word  ;  and,  strange 
to  tell,  this  secession  had,  as  he  intended  in  some  degree,  the 
effect  of  a  punishment  upon  the  refractory  feuars.  Mr  Balder- 
ston had  been  a  person  in  their  eyes  connected  with  a  superior 
order  of  beings,  whose  presence  used  to  grace  their  little  festiv- 
ities, whose  advice  they  found  useful  on  many  occasions,  and 
whose  communications  gave  a  sort  of  credit  to  their  village. 
The  place,  they  acknowledged,  "  didna  look  as  it  used  to  do, 
and  should  do,  since  Mr.  Caleb  keepit  the  castle  sae  closely 
— but,  doubtless,  touchingthe  eggs  and  butter,  it  was  a  most  un- 
reasonable demand,  as  Mr.  Dingwall  had  justly  made  manifest." 

Thus  stood  matters  betwixt  the  parties,  when  the  old  butler, 
though  it  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  him,  found  himself  obliged 
either  to  acknowledge  before  a  strange  man  of  quality,  and, 
what  was  much  worse,  before  that  stranger's  servant,  the  total 
inability  of  Wolf's  Crag  to  produce  a  dinner,  or  he  must  trust 
to  the  compassion  of  the  feuars  of  Wolf's  Hope.  It  was  a 
dreadful  degradation,  but  necessity  was  equally  imperious  and 
lawless.  With  these  feelings  he  entered  the  streets  of  the 
village. 

Willing  to  shake  himself  from  his  companion  as  soon  as 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


97 


possible,  he  directed  Mr.  Lockhard  to  Luckie  Sma'trash's 
change-house,  where  a  din,  proceeding  from  the  revels  of  Buck- 
law,  Craigengelt,  and  their  party,  sounded  half-way  down  the 
street,  while  the  red  glare  from  the  window  overpowered  the 
gray  twilight  which  was  now  settling  down,  and  glimmered 
against  a  parcel  of  old  tubs,  kegs,  and  barrels,  piled  up  in  the 
cooper's  yard,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way. 

"  If  you,  Mr.  Lockhard,"  said  the  old  butler  to  his  compan- 
ion, "will  be  pleased  to  step  to  the  change-house  where  that 
light  comes  from,  and  where,  as  I  judge,  they  are  now  singing 
'  Cauld_Kail  in  Aberdeen,' ye  may  do  your  master's  errand 
about  the  venison,  and  I  will  do  mine  about  Bucklaw's  bed,  as  I 
return  frae  getting  the  rest  of  the  vivers. — It's  no  that  the  veni- 
son is  actually  needfu',"  he  added,  detaining  his  colleague  by 
the  button,  "  to  make  up  the  dinner  ;  but,  as  a  compliment  to 
the  hunters,  ye  ken — and,  Mr.  Lockhard — if  they  offer  ye  a 
drink  o'  yill,  or  a  cup  o'  wine,  or  a  glass  o'  brandy,  ye'll  be  a 
wise  man  to  take  it,  in  case  the  thunner  should  hae  soured  ours 
at  the  castle — whilk  isower  muckle  to  be  dreaded." 

He  then  permitted  Lockhard  to  depart ;  and  with  foot 
heavy  as  lead,  and  yet  far  lighter  than  his  heart,  stepped  on 
through  the  unequal  street  of  the  straggling  village,  meditating 
on  whom  he  ought  to  make  his  first  attack.  It  was  necessary 
he  should  find  some  one,  with  whom  old  acknowledged  great- 
ness should  weigh  more  than  recent  independence,  and  to 
whom  his  application  might  appear  an  act  of  high  dignity,  re- 
lenting at  once  and  soothing.  But  he  could  not  recollect  an 
inhabitant  of  a  mind  so  constructed.  "Our  kail  is  like  to  be 
cauld  eneugh  too,"  he  reflected,  as  the  chorus  of  "  Cauld  Kail 
in  Aberdeen"  again  reached  his  ears.  The  minister — he  had 
got  his  presentation  from  the  late  lord,  but  they  had  quarreled 
about  teinds  : — the  brewster's  wife — she  had  trusted  long — and 
the  bill  was  aye  scored  up — and  unless  the  dignity  of  the  family 
should  actually  require  it,  it  would  be  a  sin  to  distress  a  widow 
woman.  None  was  so  able — but,  on  the  other  hand,  none  was 
likely  to  be  less  willing,  to  stand  his  friend  upon  the  present 
occasion,  than  Gibbie  Girder,  the  man  of  tubs  and  barrels 
already  mentioned,  who  had  headed  the  insurrection  in  the 
matter  of  the  egg  and  butter  subsidy. — "  But  a'  comes  o'  taking 
folk  on  the  right  side,  I  trow,"  quoth  Caleb  to  himself  ;  "  and 
I  had  ance  the  ill  hap  to  say  he  was  but  a  Johnny  Newcome  in 
our  town,  and  the  carle  bore  the  family  an  ill  will  ever  since. 
But  he  married  a  bonny  young  queen,  Jean  Lightbody,  auld 
Lightbody's  daughter,  him  that  was  in  the  steading  of  Loup- 
the  Dyke, — and  auld  Lightbody  was  married  himself  to  Marion, 


o8  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

that  was  about  my  lady  in  the  family  forty  years  syne — I  hae 
had  mony  a  day's  daffing  wi'  Jean's  mither,  and  they  say  she 
bides  on  wi'  them — the  carle  has  Jacobuses  and  Georgiuses 
baith,  an  ane  could  get  at  them — and  sure  I  am,  it's  doing  him 
an  honor  him  or  his  never  deserved  at  our  hand,  the  ungra- 
cious sumph  ;  and  if  he  loses  by  us  a'thegither,  he  is  e'en  cheap 
o't,  he  can  spare  it  brawly." 

Shaking  off  irresolution,  therefore,  and  turning  at  once 
upon  his  heel,  Caleb  walked  hastily  back  to  the  cooper's 
house,  lifted  the  latch  without  ceremony,  and  in  a  moment 
found  himself  behind  the  hallan,  or  partition,  from  which 
position  he  could,  himself  unseen,  reconnoitre  the  interior  of 
the  hut,  or  kitchen  apartment,  of  the  mansion. 

Reverse  of  the  sad  menage  at  the  Castle  of  Wolf's  Crag, 
a  bickering  fire  roared  up  the  cooper's  chimney.  His  wife  on 
the  one  side,  in  her  pearlings  and  pudding  sleeves,  put  the  last 
finishing  touch  to  her  holiday's  apparel  while  she  contemplated 
a  very  handsome  and  good-humored  face  in  a  broken  mirror, 
raised  upon  the  bink  (the  shelves  on  which  the  plates  are  dis- 
posed) for  her  special  accommodation.  Her  mother,  old  Luckie 
Loup-the-Dyke,  "  a  canty  carline,"  as  was  within  twenty  miles 
of  her,  according  to  the  unanimous  report  of  the  cum?nc/'S,  or 
gossips,  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  full  glory  of  a  grogram  gown, 
lammer  beads,  and  a  clean  cockernony,  whiffing  a  snug  pipe  of 
tobacco,  and  superintending  the  affairs  of  the  kitchen.  For — 
sight  more  interesting  to  the  anxious  heart  and  craving  entrails 
of  the  desponding  seneschal,  than  either  buxom  dame  or  canty 
cummer — there  bubbled  on  the  aforesaid  bickering  fire  a  huge 
pot,  or  rather  cauldron,  steaming  with  beef  and  brewis  ;  while 
before  it  revolved  two  spits,  turned  each  by  one  of  the  cooper's 
apprentices,  seated  in  the  opposite  corners  of  the  chimney ;  the 
one  loaded  with  a  quarter  of  mutton,  while  the  other  was 
graced  with  a  fat  goose  and  a  beace  of  wild  ducks.  The  sight 
and  the  scent  of  such  a  land  of  plenty  almost  wholly  overcame 
the  drooping  spirits  of  Caleb.  He  turned,  for  a  moment's  space, 
to  reconnoitre  the  ben,  or  parlor  end  of  the  house,  and  there 
saw  a  sight  scarce  less  affecting  to  his  feelings, — a  large  round 
table,  covered  for  ten  or  twelve  persons,  decorcd  (according  to 
his  own  favorite  term)  with  napcry  as  white  as  snow  ;  grand 
flagons  of  pewter,  intermixed  with  one  or  two  silver  cups,  con- 
taining, as  was  probable,  something  worthy  the  brilliancy  of 
their  outward  appearance ;  clean  trenchers,  cutty  spoons, 
knives  and  forks,  sharp,  burnished,  and  prompt  for  action, 
which  lay  all  displayed  as  for  an  especial  festival. 

"  The  devil's  in  the  pedling  tub-coopering  carle  ! "  mut* 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


99 


tered  Caleb,  in  all  the  envy  of  astonishment ;  "  it's  a  shame  to 
see  the  like  o'  them  gusting  their  gabs  at  sic  a  rate.  But  i{ 
some  o'  that  gude  cheer  does  not  find  its  way  to  Wolf's  Crag 
this  night,  my  name  is  not  Caleb  Balderston." 

So  resolving,  he  entered  the  apartment,  and,  in  all  courte- 
ous greeting,  saluted  both  the  mother  and  the  daughter. 
Wolf's  Crag  was  the  court  of  the  barony,  Caleb  prime  minister 
at  Wolf's  Crag ;  and  it  has  ever  been  remarked,  that  though 
the  masculine  subject  who  pays  the  taxes  sometimes  growls  at 
the  courtiers  by  whom  they  are  imposed,  the  said  courtiers 
continue,  nevertheless,  welcome  to  the  fair  sex,  to  whom  they 
furnish  the  newest  small  talk  and  the  earliest  fashions.  Both 
the  dames  were,  therefore,  at  once  about  Old  Caleb's  neck, 
setting  up  their  throats  together  by  way  of  welcome. 

"  Ay,  sirs,  Mr.  Balderston,  and  is  this  you  ? — A  sight  of  you 
is  gude  for  sair  een — sit  down — sit  down — the  gudeman  will 
be  blithe  to  see  you — ye  nar  saw  him  ?ae  cadgy  in  your  life  ; 
but  we  are  to  christen  our  bit  wean  the  night,  as  ye  will  hae 
heard,  and  doubtless  ye  will  stay  and  see  the  ordinance. — We 
hae  killed  a  wether,  and  ane  o'  our  lads  has  been  out  wi'  his 
gun  at  the  moss — ye  used  to  like  wild-fowl." 

"Na — na — gudewife,"  said  Caleb,  "I  just  keekit  in  :o 
wish  ye  joy,  and  I  wad  be  glad  to  hae  spoken  wi'  the  gudeman, 
but  " moving,  as  if  to  go  away. 

"  The  ne'er  a  fit  ye's  gang,"  said  the  elder  dame,  laughing, 
and  holding  him  fast,  with  a  freedom  which  belonged  to  their 
old  acquaintance ;  "  wha  kens  what  ill  it  may  bring  to  the 
bairn,  if  ye  owerlook  it  in  that  gate  1  " 

"  But  I'm  in  a  preceese  hurry,  gudewife,"  said  the  butler, 
suffering  himself  to  be  dragged  to  a  seat  without  much  resist- 
ance ;  "  and  as  to  eating  " — for  he  observed  the  mistress  of  the 
dwelling  bustling  about  to  place  a  trencher  for  him — "  as  for 
eating — lack-a-day,  we  are  just  killed  up  yonder  wi'  eating  frae 
morning  to  night — it's  shamefu'  epicurism  ;  but  that's  what  we 
hae  gotten  frae  the  English  pock-puddings." 

"  Hout — never  mind  the  English  pock-puddings,"  said 
Luckie  Lightbody  ;  "  try  our  puddings,  Mr.  Balderston — there 
is  black  pudding  and  white-hass — try  whilk  ye  like  best." 

"  Baith  gude — baith  excellent — canna  be  better-,  but  the 
very  smell  is  eneugh  for  me  that  hae  dined  sae  lately  (the 
faithful  wretch  had  fasted  since  day-break).  But  I  wadna 
affront  your  housewifeskep,  gudewife  ;  and,  with  your  permis- 
sion, I'se  e'en  pit  them  in  my  napkin,  and  eat  them  to  my  sup- 
per at  e'en,  for  I'm  wearied  of  Mysie's  pastry  and  nonsense — 
ye  ken  landward  dainties  aye  pleased  me  best,  Marion — and 


lOO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

landward  lasses  too — (looking  at  the  cooper's  wife) — Ne'er  a 
bit  but  she  looks  far  better  than  when  she  married  Gilbert,  and 
then  she  was  the  bonniest  lass  in  our  parochine  and  the  neest 
till't — But  gawsie  cow,  goodly  calf." 

The  women  smiled  at  the  compliment  each  to  herself,  and 
they  smiled  again  to  each  other  as  Caleb  wrapt  up  the  puddings 
in  a  towel  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  as  a  dragoon  car- 
ries his  foraging  bag  to  receive  what  may  fall  in  his  way. 

"And  what  news  at  the  castle  ?  "  quo'  the  gudewife. 

'■News.''  —  the  bravest  news  ye  ever  heard — the  Lord 
Keeper's  up  yonder  wi'  his  fair  daughter,  just  ready  to  fling 
her  at  my  lord's  head,  if  he  winna  tak  her  out  o'  his  arms  ; 
and  I'se  warrant  he'll  stitch  our  auld  lands  of  Ravenswood  to 
her  petticoat  tail." 

"  Eh !  sirs — ay  ! — and  will  he  hae  her  ? — and  is  she  weel 
favored  i" — and  what's  the  color  o'  her  hair  ? — and  does  she 
wear  a  habit  or  a  railly  ?  "  were  the  questions  which  the 
females  showered  upon  the  butler. 

"  Hout  tout  ! — it  wad  tak  a  man  a  day  to  answer  a'  your 
questions,  and  I  hae  hardly  a  minute.  Where's  thegudeman?" 

"  Awa  to  fetch  the  minister,"  said  Mrs.  Girder,  "  precious 
Mr.  Peter  Bide-the-Bent,  frae  the  Moss-head — the  honest  man 
has  the  rheumatism  wi'  lying  in  the  hills  in  the  persecution. 

"  Ay  ! — a  whig  and  a  mountain  man — nae  less  ?  "  said  Caleb, 
with  a  peevishness  he  could  not  suppress  :  ''  I  hae  seen  the 
day,  Luckie,  when  worthy  Mr.  Cuffcushion  and  the  service- 
book  would  hae  served  your  turn  (to  the  elder  dame),  or  ony 
honest  woman  in  like  circumstances." 

"  And  that's  true  too,"  said  Mrs.  Lightbody,  "  but  what 
can  a  body  do  i* — Jean  maun  baith  sing  her  psalms  and  busk 
her  cockernony  the  gate  the  gudeman  likes,  and  nae  ither  gate; 
for  he's  maister  and  mair  at  hame,  I  can  tell  ye,  Mr.  Balder- 
ston." 

"  Ay,  ay,  and  does  he  guide  the  gear  too  ?  "  said  Caleb,  to 
whose  projects  masculine  rule  boded  little  good. 

"  Ilka  penny  on't — but  he'll  dress  her  as  dink  as  a  daisy,  as 
ye  see — sae  she  has  little  reason  to  complain — where  there's 
ane  better  aff  there's  ten  waur." 

"  Aweel,  gudewife,"  said  Caleb,  crestfallen,  but  not  beaten 
off,  that  wasna  the  way  ye  guided  your  gudeman  ;  but  ilka  land 
has  its  ain  lauch.  I  maun  be  ganging — I  just  wanted  to  round 
in  the  gudeman's  lug,  that  I  heard  them  say  up  by  yonder,  that 
Peter  Puncheon  that  was  cooper  to  the  Queen's  stores  at  the 
Timmer  Burse  at  Leith,  is  dead  —  sae  I  thought  that  maybe 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  loi 

a  word   frae    my  lord  to  the  Lord  Keeper  might  hae  served    - 
Gilbert;  but  since  he's  frae  hame" JTj  . 

"  O,  but  ye  maun  stay  his  hame-coming,"  said  the  dame; 
"  I  aye  tell'd  the  gudeman  ye  meant  weel  to  him ;  but  he  taks 
the  tout  at  every  bit  lippening  word." 

"  Aweel,  ril^stay  the  last  minute  I  can." 

"  And  so,"  said  the  handsome  young  spouse  of  Mr.  Girder,  ,,j/#, 
"  ye  think  this  Miss  Ashton  is  wee!-favored .'' — troth,  and  sae 
should  she,  to  set  up  for  our  young  lord,  with  a  face,  and  a  hand, 
and  a  seat  on  his  horse,  that  might  become  a  king's  son, — d'ye 
ken  that  he  aye  glowers  up  at  my  window,  Mr.  Balderston, 
when  he  chances  to  ride  thro'  the  town,  sae  I  hae  a  right  to 
ken  what  like  he  is,  as  weel  as  ony  body. 

"  I  ken  that  brawl}',"  said  Caleb,  "  for  I  hae  heard  his  lord- 
ship say,  the  cooper's  wife  had  the  blackest  ee  in  the  barony ; 
and  I  said,  Weel  may  that  be,  my  lord,  for  it  was  her  mither's 
afore  her,  as  I  ken  to  my  cost — Eh,  Marion  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! — 
Ah  !  these  were  merry  days  !  " 

"  Hout  awa,  auld  carle,"  said  the  old  dame,  "  to  speak  sic 
daffin  to  young  folk. — But,  Jean — fie,  woman,  dinna  ye  hear 
the  bairn  greet  ?  I'se  warrant  it's  that  dreary  weid*  has  come 
over't  again." 

Up  got  mother  and  grandmother,  and  scoured  away,  jostling 
each  other  as  they  ran,  into  some  remote  corner  of  the  tenement, 
where  the  young  hero  of  the  evening  was  deposited.  When 
Caleb  saw  the  coast  fairly  clear,  he  took  an  invigorating  pinch 
of  snuff,  to  sharpen  and  confirm  his  resolution. 

Cauld  be  my  cast,  thought  he,  if  either  Bide-the-Bent  or 
Girder  taste  that  broche  of  wild-fowl  this  evening  ;  and  then 
addressing  the  eldest  turnspit,  a  boy  about  eleven  years  old,  and 
putting  a  penny  into  his  hand,  he  said,  "  Here  is  twal  pennies,! 
my  man  ;  carry  that  ower  to  Mrs.  Sma'trash,  and  bid  her  fill 
my  mull  wi'  sneeshin,  and  I'll  turn  the  broche  for  ye  in  the 
meantime — and  she  will  gie  ye  a  gingerbread  snap  for  your 
pains." 

No  sooner  was  the  elder  boy  departed  on  this  mission,  than 
Caleb,  looking  the  remaining  turnspit  gravely  and  steadily  in 
the  face,  removed  from  the  fire  the  spit  bearing  the  wild-fowl 
of  which  he  had  undertaken  the  charge,  clapped  his  hat  on  hig 
head,  and  fairly  marched  off  with  it.  He  stopped  at  the  door 
of  the  change-house  only  to  say,  in  a  few  brief  words,  that  Mr. 

*Wied,  a  feverish  cold  ;  a  disorder  incident  to  infants  and  to  fiemales,  is 
so  called. 

t  Monetae  Scoticae,  scilicet. 


fQ2  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Haystone  of  Bucklaw  was  not  to  expect  a  bed  that  evening  in 
the  castle. 

If  this  message  was  too  briefly  delivered  by  Caleb,  it  be- 
came absolute  rudeness  when  conveyed  through  themedium  of 
a  suburb  landlady ;  and  Eucklaw  was,  as  a  more  calm  and 
temperate  man  might  have  been,  highly  incensed.  Captain 
Craigengelt  proposed,  with  the  unanimous  applause  of  all  pres- 
ent, that  they  should  course  the  old  fox  (meaning  Caleb)  ere 
he  got  to  cover,fand  toss  Jiiin  Jji  j._hliuiketi  But  Lockhard  in- 
timated to  his  rhaster's  servants,  and  those  of  Lord  Bittlebrains, 
in  a  tone  of  authority,  that  the  slightest  impertinence  to  the  Mas- 
ter of  Ravenswood's  domestic  would  give  Sir  William  Ashton  the 
highest  offence.  And  having  so  said,  in  a  manner  sufficient  to 
prevent  any  aggression  on  their  part,  he  left  the  public-house, 
taking  along  with  him  two  servants  loaded  with  such  provisions 
as  he  had  been  able  to  procure,  and  overtook  Caleb  just  when 
he  had  cleared  the  village. 


CHAPTER  TWELFTH. 

Should  I  take  ought  of  you  ? — 'tis  true  I  begged  now  ; 
And,  what  is  worse  than  that,  I  stole  a  kindness; 
And,  what  is  worst  of  all,  I  lost  my  way  in't. 

Wit  Without  Money. 

The  face  of  the  little  bo}-,  sole  witness  of  Caleb's  infringe- 
ment upon  the  laws  at  once  of  property  and  hospitality,  would 
have  made  a  good  picture.  He  sat  motionless,  as  if  he  had 
witnessed  some  of  the  spectral  appearances  which  he  had  heard 
told  of  in  a  winter's  evening  ;  and  as  he  forgot  his  own  dutv, 
and  allowed  his  spit  to  stand  still,  he  added  to  the  misfortunes 
of  the  evening,  by  suffering  the  mutton  to  burn  as  black  as  coal. 
He  was  first  recalled  from  his  trance  of  astonishment  by  a 
hearty  cuff,  administered  by  Dame  Lightbody,  who  ( in  what- 
ever other  respects  she  might  conform  her  name)  was  a  woman 
strong  of  person,  and  expert  in  the  use  of  her  hands,  as  some 
say  her  deceased  husband  had  known  to  his  cost. 

"  What  garr'd  ye  let  the  roast  burn,  )'e  ill-cleckit  gude-for- 
naught .'' " 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  said  the  boy. 

"And  Where's  that  ill-deedy  gett,  Giles  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  blubbered  the  astonished  declarant. 

"  And  Where's  Mr.  Balderston  i" — and  abune  a',  and  in  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


103 


name  of  council  and  kirk-session,  that  I  suld  say  sae,  where's 
the  broche  wi'  the  wild-fowl  ? " 

As  Mrs.  Girder  here  entered,  and  joined  her  mother's  ex- 
clamations, screaming  into  one  ear  while  the  old  lady  deafened 
the  other,  they  succeeded  in  so  utterly  confounding  the  unhappy 
urchin,  that  he  could  not  for  some  time  tell  his  story  at  all,  and 
it  was  only  when  the  elder  boy  returned,  that  the  truth  began 
to  dawn  on  their  minds. 

"Weel,  sirs  !  "  said  Mrs.  Lightbody,  "  wha  wadhae  thought 
o'  Caleb  Balderston  playing  an  auld  acquaintance  sic  a  pHskie  ?  " 

"  O,  weary  on  him  !  "  said  the  spouse  of  Mr.  Girder  ;  "■  and 
what  am  I  to  say  to  the  gudeman  ? — he'll  brain  me,  if  there 
wasna  anither  woman  in  a'  Wolf's  Hope." 

"  Hout~fout,  silly  quean,"  said  the  mother  ;  "  na,  na — it's 
come  to  muckle,  but  it's  no  come  to  that  neither ;  for  an  he 
brain  you  he  maun  brain  me,  and  I  have  garr'd  his  betters 
stand  back — hands  aff  is  fair  play — we  maunna  heed  a  bit 
flyting." 

The  tramp  of  horses  now  announced  the  arrival  of  the  cooper, 
with  the  minister.  They  had  no  sooner  dismounted  than  they 
made  for  the  kitchen  fire,  for  the  evening  was  cool  after  the 
thunderstorm,  and  the  woods  wet  and  dirty.  The  young  gude- 
wife,  strong  in  the  charms  of  her  Sunday  gown  and  biggonets, 
threw  herself  in  the  way  of  receiving  the  first  attack,  while  her 
mother,  like  the  veteran  division  of  the  Roman  legion,  remained 
in  the  rear,  ready  to  support  her  in  case  of  necessity.  Both 
hoped  to  protract  the  discovery  of  what  had  happened — the 
mother,  by  interposing  her  bustling  person  betwixt  Mr,  Girder 
and  the  fire,  and  the  daughter  by  the  extreme  cordiality  with 
which  she  received  the  minister  and  her  husband,  and  the 
anxious  fears  which  she  expressed  lest  they  should  have  "gotten 
cauld." 

"Cauld  ?"  quoth  the  husband  surlily — for  he  was  not  of 
that  class  of  lords  and  masters  whose  wives  are  viceroys  over 
them — "  we'll  be  cauld  eneugh,  I  think,  if  ye  dinna  let  us  in  to 
the  fire." 

And  so  saying,  he  burst  his  way  through  both  lines  of  de- 
fence ;  and,  as  he  had  a  careful  eye  over  his  property  of  every 
kind,  he  perceived  at  one  glance  the  absence  of  the  spit  with 
its  savory  burden.     "  What   the  deil,  woman  " 

"  Fie  for  shame  !  "  exclaimed  both  the  women  ;  "  and  before 
Mr.  Bide-the-bent !  " 

"  I  stand  reproved,"  said  the  cooper ;   "  but  " 

"  The  taking  in  our  mouths  the  name  of  the  great  enemy  of 
our  souls,"  said  Mr,  Bide-the-Bent 


104  THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM  ER  MOOR. 

*'  I  stand  reproved,"  said  the  cooper. 

"  Is  an  exposing  oursells  to  his  temptations,"  continued  the 
reverend  monitor,  "  and  an  inviting,  or  in  some  sort,  a  compel 
ling,  of  him  to  lay  aside  his  other  trafficking  with  unhappy  per- 
sons, and  wait  upon  those  in  whose  speech  his  name  is  frequent." 

"  Weel,  weel,  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,  can  a  man  do  mair  than 
stand  reproved  ?  "  said  the  cooper ;  "  but  just  let  me  ask  the 
women  what  for  they  hae  dished  the  wild-fowl  before  we  came." 

"  They  arena  dished,  Gilbert,"  said  his  wife  ;  "  but — but  an 
accident" 

"  What  accident  ?"  said  Girder,  with  flashing  eyes — "  Nae 
ill  come  ower  them,  I  trust  ?  Uh  .-'  " 
^^"^  His  wife  who  stood  much  in  awe  of  him,  durst  not  reply; 
but  her  mother  bustled  up  to  her  support,  with  arms  jdisposed 
as  if  tTiey  we're  libout  to  be  a-kimbo  at  the~hext  reply,^^"  Igied 
them  to  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  Gibbie  Girder ;  and'  what  about 
it  now  .?  " 

Her  excess  of  assurance  struck  Girder  mute  for  an  instant. 
"  And_>'^  gied  the  wild-fowl,  the  best  end  of  our  christening  din- 
ner, to  a  friend  of  yours,  ye  auld  rudas  !  And  what  might  hk 
name  be,  I  pray  ye  .''  " 

"Just  worthy  Mr.  Caleb  Balderston  frae  Wolf's  Crag," 
answered  Marion,  prompt  and  prepared  for  battle. 

Girder's  wrath  foamed  over  all  restraint.  If  there  was  a  cir- 
cumstance which  could  have  added  to  the  resentment  he  felt,  it 
was,  that  this  extravagant  donation  had  been  made  in  favor  of 
our  friend  Caleb,  toward  whom,  for  reasons  to  which  the  reader 
is  no  stranger,  he  nourished  a  decided  resentment.  He  raised 
his  riding-wand  against  the  elder  matron,  but  she  stood  firm, 
collected  in  herself,  and  undauntedly  brandished  the  iron  ladle 
with  which  she  had  just  httn  JIambing  {Anglice,  basting)  the 
roast  of  mutton.  Her  weapon  was  certainly  the  better,  and  her 
arm  not  the  weakest  of  the  two  ;  so  that  Gilbert  thought  it  safest 
to  turn  short  off  upon  his  wife,  who  had  by  this  time  hatched  a 
sort  of  hysterical  whine,  which  greatly  moved  the  minister,  who 
was  in  fact  as  simple  and  kind-hearted  a  creature  as  ever 
breathed. — "  And  you,  ye  thowless  jaud,  to  sit  still  and  see  my 
substance  disponed  upon  to  an  idle,  drunken,  reprobate,  worm- 
eaten,  serving  man,  just  because  he  kittles  the  lugs  o'  a  silly 
auld  wife  wi'  useless  clavers,   and  every  twa  words  a  lee  ? — I'll 

gar  you  as  gude" 

Here  the  minister  interposed,  both  by  voice  and  action 
w^hile  Dame  Lightbody  threw  herself  in  front  of  her  daughtef 
and  flourished  her  ladle. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


I  OS 


"  Am  I  no  to  chastise  my  ain  wife  ? "  exclaimed  the  coojier, 
very  indignantly. 

"  Ye  may  chastise  your  ain  wife  if  you  like,"  answered  Dame 
Lightbody  ;  "  but  ye  shall  never  lay  finger  on  my  daughter,  and 
that  ye  may  found  upon." 

"  For  shame,  Mr.  Girder  ! "  said  the  clergyman  ;  "  this  is 
what  I  little  expected  to  have  seen  of  you,  that  you  suld  give 
rein  to  your  sinful  passions  against  your  nearest  and  your  dear- 
est ;  and  this  night  too,  when  ye  are  called  to  the  most  solemn 
duty  of  a  Christian  parent — and  a'  for  what .-'  for  a  redundancy 
of  creature-comforts,  as  worthless  as  they  are  unneedful." 

"  Worthless  !  "  exclaimed  the  cooper  ;  "  a  better  guse  never 
walkit  on  stubble  ;  twa  finer  dentier  wild-ducks  never  wat  a 
feather." 

"  Be  it  sae,  neighbor,"  rejoined  the  minister  ;  "  but  see  what 
superfluities  are  yet  revolving  before  your  fire.  I  have  seen  the 
day  when  ten  of  the  bannocks  which  stand  upon  that  board 
would  have  been  an  acceptable  dainty  to  as  many  men,  that 
were  starving  on  hills  and  bogs,  and  in  caves  of  the  earth,  for 
the  Gospel's  sake." 

"  And  that's  what  vexes  me  maist  of  a',''  said  the  cooper, 
anxious  to  get  some  one  to  sympathize  with  his  not  altogether 
causeless  anger  ;  "  an  the  queen  had  gien  it  to  ony  sulfering 
sant,  or  to  ony  body  ava  but  that  reiving,  lying,  oppressing  Tory 
villain,  that  rade  in  the  wicked  troop  of  militia  when  it  was  com- 
manded out  against  the  sants  at  Bothwell  Brigg  by  the  auld 
tyrant  Allan  Ravenswood,  that  is  gane  to  his  place,  I  wad  the 
less  hae  minded  it.  But  to  gie  the  principal  part  o'  the  feast 
to  the  like  o'  him  !  " 

"  Aweel,  Gilbert/' said  the  minister,  "and  dinna  ye  see  a 
high  judgment  in  this? — The  seed  of  the  righteous  are  not  seen 
begging  their  bread — think  of  the  son  of  a  powerful  oppressor 
being  brought  to  the  pass  of  supporting  his  household  from 
your  fullness." 

"  And,  besides,"  said  the  wife,  "  it  wasna  for  Lord  Ravens- 
wood  neither,  an  he  wad  hear  but  a  body  speak — it  was  to  help 
to  entertain  the  Lord  Keeper,  as  they  ca'  him,  that's  up  yonder 
at  Wolf's  Crag." 

"  Sir  William  Ashton  at  Wolf's  Crag  !  "  ejaculated  the 
astonished  man  of  hoops  and  staves. 

"And  hand  and  glove  wi'  Lord  Ravenswood,"  added  Dame 
Lightbody. 

"  Doited  idiot  ! — that  auld  clavering  sneckdrawer  wad  gar 
ye  trow  the  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese.  The  Lord  Keeper 
and  Ravenswood  I  they  are  c<it  and  dog,  hare  and  hound." 


io6  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"  I  tell  ye  they  are  man  and  wife,  and  gree  better  than 
some  others  that  are  sae,"  retorted  the  mother-in-law  ;  "  forby, 
Peter  Puncheon,  that's  cooper  to  the  Queen's  stores,  is  dead, 
and  the  place  is  to  fill,  and" 

"Od  guide  us,  wull  ye  baud  your  skirling  tongues  ?  "  said 
Girder, — for  we  are  to  remark,  that  this  explanation  was  given 
like  a  catch  for  two  voices,  the  younger  dame,  much  encouraged 
by  the  turn  of  the  debate,  taking  up,  and  repeating  in  a  higher 
tone,  the  words  as  fast  as  they  were  uttered  by  her  mother. 

"  The  gudewife  says  naething  but  what's  true,  master," 
said  Girder's  foreman,  who  had  come  in  during  the  fray.  "  I 
saw  the  Lord  Keeper's  servants  drinking  and  driving  ower  at 
Luckie  Sma'trash's  ower  by  yonder." 

"  And  is  their  maister  up  at  Wolf's  Crag  .-'  "  said  Girder. 

"  Ay,  troth  is  he,"  replied  his  man  of  confidence. 

"  And  friends  wi'  Ravenswood  .''  " 

"  It's  like  sae,"  answered  the  foreman,  "since  he  is  putting 
up*  wi'  him." 

"And  Peter  Puncheon's  dead  ? " 

"  Ay,  ay — Puncheon  has  leaked  out  at  last,  the  auld  carle," 
said  the  foreman  ;  "  mony  a  dribble  o'  brandy  has  gaen  through 
him  in  his  day.  But  as  for  the  broche  and  the  wild-fowl,  the 
saddle's  no  aff  your  mare  yet,  maister,  and  I  could  follow  and 
bring  it  back,  for  Mr.  Balderston's  no  far  aff  the  town  yet." 

"  Do  sae,  Will — and  come  here — I'll  tell  ye  what  to  do  when 
ye  owertake  him." 

He  reliev^ed  the  females  of  his  presence,  and  gave  Will  his 
private  mstructions. 

"A  bonny-like  thing,"  said  the  mother-in-law,  as  the  cooper 
re-entered  the  apartment,  "  to  send  the  innocent  lad  after  an 
armed  man,  when  ye  ken  Mr.  Balderston  aye  wears  a  rapier, 
and  whiles  a  dirk  into  the  bargain." 

"  I  trust,"  said  the  minister,"  ye  have  reflected  weel  on 
what  ye  have  done,  lest  you  should  minister  cause  of  strife,  of 
which  it  is  my  duty  to  say,  he  who  affordeth  matter,  albeit  he 
himself  striketh  not,  is  in  no  manner  guiltless," 

"  Never  fash  your  beard,  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,"  replied  Gir 
der ;  "ane  cannaget  their  breath  out  between  wives  and  minis- 
ters— I  ken  best  how  to  turn  my  ain  cake. — Jean,  serve  up  the 
dinner,  and  nae  mair  about  it." 

Nor  did  he  again  allude  to  the  deficiency  in  the  course  of 
the  evening. 

Meantime,  the  foreman,  mounted  on  his  master's  steed,  and 

*  Taking  up  his  abode. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  107 

charged  with  his  special  orders,  pricked  swiftly  forth  In  pursuit 
of  the  marauder,  Caleb.  That  personage,  it  may  be.  imagined, 
did  not  linger  by  the  way.  He  intermitted  even  his  dearly- 
beloved  chatter,  for  the  purpose  of  making  more  haste,  only  as- 
suring Mr.  Lockhard  that  he  had  made  the  purveyor's  wife  give 
the  wild-fowl  a  few  turns  before  the  fire,  in  case  that  Mysie,  who 
had  been  so  much  alarmed  by  the  thunder,  should  not  have 
her  kitchen-grate  in  full  splendor.  Meanwhile,  alleging  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  at  Wolf's  Crag  as  soon  as  possible,  he  pushed 
on  so  fast  that  his  companions  could  scarce  keep  up  with  him. 
He  began  already  to  think  he  was  safe  from  pursuit,  having 
gained  the  summit  of  the  swelling  eminence  which  divides  Wolf's 
Crag  from  the  village,  when  he  heard  the  distant  tread  of  a 
horse,  and  a  voice  which  shouted  at  intervals,  "  Mr.  Caleb — 
Mr.  Balderston — Mr.  Caleb  Balderston — hollo — bide   a  wee  !  " 

Caleb,  it  may  be  well  believed,  was  in  no  hurry  to  acknowl- 
edge the  summons.  First,  he  would  not  hear  it,  and  faced  his  com- 
panions down,  that  it  was  the  echo  of  the  wind  ;  then  he  said  it 
was  not  worth  stopping  for  ;  and,  at  length,  halting  reluctantly, 
as  the  figure  of  the  horseman  appeared  through  the  shades  of 
the  evening,  he  bent  up  his  whole  soul  to  the  task  of  defending 
his  prey,  threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of  dignity,  advanced 
the  spit,  which  in  his  grasp  might  with  its  burden  seem  both 
spear  and  shield,  and  firmly  resolved  to  die  rather  than  sur- 
render it. 

What  was  his  astonishment,  when  the  cooper's  foreman, 
riding  up  and  addressing  him  with  respect,  told  him  "  his  master 
was  very  sorry  he  was  absent  when  he  came  to  his  dwelling,  and 
grieved  that  he  could  not  tarry  the  christening  dinner  ;  and  that 
he  had  taen  the  freedom  to  send  a  sma'  rundlet  of  sack,  and 
ane  anker  of  brandy,  as  he  understood  there  were  guests  at  the 
castle,  and  that  they  were  short  of  preparation." 

I  have  heard  somewhere  a  story  of  an  elderly  gentleman 
who  was  pursued  by  a  bear  that  had  gotten  loose  from  its 
muzzle,  until  completely  exhausted.  In  a  fit  of  desperation  he 
faced  round  upon  Bruin  and  lifted  his  cane ;  at  the  sight  of 
which  the  instinct  of  discipline  prevailed  and  the  animal. 
Instead  of  tearing  him  to  pieces,  rose  up  upon  his  hind  legs, 
and  instantly  began  to  shuffle  a  saraband.  Not  less  than  the 
joyful  surprise- of  the  senior,  who  had  supposed  himself  in  the 
extremity  of  peril  from  which  he  was  thus  unexpectedly  re- 
lieved, was  that  of  our  excellent  friend,  Caleb,  when  he  found 
the  pursuer  intended  to  add  to  his  prize,  instead  of  bereaving 
him  of  it.  He  recovered  his  attitude,  however,  instantly,  so 
soon  as  the  foreman,  stooping  from  his  nag,   where   he   sate 


108  THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOK. 

perched  betwixt  the  two  barrels,  whispered  in  his  ear, — "  H 
ony  thing  about  Peter  Puncheon's  place  could  be  airted  their 
way,  John  Girder  wad  mak  it  better  to  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  than  a  pair  of  new  gloves  ;  and  that  he  wad  be  blithe  to 
speak  wi'  Maister  Balderston  on  that  head,  and  he  wad  find 
him  as  pliant  as  a  hoop-willow  in  a'  that  he  could  wish  of 
him." 

Caleb  heard  all  this  without  rendering  any  answer,  except 
that  of  all  great  men  from  Louis  XIV.  downward,  namely, 
"  We  will  see  about  it ;  "  and  then  added  aloud,  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  Mr.  Lockhard, — "  Your  master  has  acted  with  becoming 
civility  and  attention  in  forwarding  the  liquors,  and  I  will  not 
fail  to  represent  it  properly  to  my  Lord  Ravenswood.  And,  my 
lad,"  he  said,  "  you  may  ride  on  to  the  castle,  and  if  none  of 
the  servants  are  returned,  whilk  is  to  be  dreaded,  as  they  make 
day  and  night  of  it  when  they  are  out  of  sight,  ye  may  put  them 
into  the  porter's  lodge,  whilk  is  on  the  right  hand  of  the  great 
entry — the  porter  has  got  leave  to  go  to  see  his  friends,  sae  ye 
will  meet  no  ane  to  steer  ye." 

The  foreman,  having  received  his  orders,  rode  on  ;  and 
havmg  deposited  the  casks  in  the  deserted  and  ruinous  porter's 
lodge,  he  returned  unquestioned  by  any  one.  Having  thus 
executed  his  master's  commission,  and  doffed  his  bonnet  to 
Caleb  and  his  company  as  he  repassed  them  in  his  way  to 
the  village,  he  returned  to  have  his  share  of  the  christening 
festivity.* 


CHAPTER  THIRTEENTH. 

As,  to  the  autumn  breeze's  bugle  sound, 

Various  and  vague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their  round  ; 

Or,  from  the  garden-door,  on  ether  borne, 

The  chaff  flies  devious  from  the  winnow'd  com  ; 

So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heaven. 

From  their  fix'd  aim  are  mortal  counsels  driv'n. 

Anonymous. 

We  left  Caleb  Balderston  in  the  extremity  of  triumph  at  the 
success  of  his  various  achievements  for  the  honor  of  the  house 
of  Ravenswood.  When  he  had  mustered  and  marshaled  his 
dishes  of  di-v  ers  kinds,  a  more  royal  provision  had  not  been 
seen  in  WoK'i  Crag  since  the  funeral  feast  of  its  deceased  lord. 

*  Note  E.     The  raid  of  Caleb  Balderston. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


lo^ 


Great  was  the  glory  of  the  serving-man,  as  he  decored  the  old 
oaken  table  cloth  with  a  clean  cloth,  and  arranged  upon  it  car- 
bonaded  venison  and  roasted  wild-fowl,  with  a  glance,  every 
now  and  then,  as  if  to  upbraid  the  incredulity  of  his  master  and 
his  guests  ;  and  with  many  a  story,  more  or  less  true,  was 
Lockhard  that  evening  regaled  concerning  the  ancient  grandeur 
of  Wolf's  Crag,  and  the  sway  of  its  Barons  over  the  country  in 
their  neighborhood. 

"  A  vassal  scarce  held  a  calf  or  a  lamb  his  ain,  till  he  had 
first  asked  if  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  was  pleased  to  accept  it; 
and  they  were  obliged  to  ask  the  lord's  consent  before  they 
married  in  these  days,  and  mony  a  merry  tale  they  tell  about 
that  right  as  weel  as  others.  And  although,"  said  Caleb,  "  these 
times  are  not  like  the  gude  auld  times,  when  authority  had  its 
right,  yet  true  it  is,  Mr.  Lockhard,  and  you  yoursell  may  partly 
have  remarked,  that  we  of  the  house  of  Ravenswood  do  our 
endeavor  in  keepmg  up,  by  all  just  and  lawful  exertion  of  our 
baronial  authority,  that  due  and  fitting  connection  betwixt 
superior  and  vassal,  whilk  is  in  some  danger  of  falling  into 
desuetude,  owing  to  the  general  license  and  misrule  of  these 
present  unhappy  times." 

"  Umph  !  "  said  Mr.  Lockhard  ;  "  and,  if  I  may  inquire,  Mr 
Balderston,  pray  do  you  find  your  people  at  the  village  yonder 
amenable  .-*  for  I  must  needs  say,  that  at  Ravenswood  Castle, 
now  pertaining  to  my  master,  the  Lord  Keeper,  ye  have  not 
left  behind  ye  the  most  compliant  set  of  tenantry." 

"Ah  !  but,  Mr.  Lockhard,"  replied  Caleb,  "ye  must  consider 
there  has  been  a  change  of  hands,  and  the  auld  lord  might 
expect  twa  turns  frae  them,  when  the  new  comer  canna  get 
ane.  A  dour  and  fractious  set  they  were,  thae  tenants  of 
Ravenswood,  and  ill  to  live  wi'  when  they  dinna  ken  their 
master — and  if  your  master  put  them  mad  ance,  the  whole 
country  will  not  put  them  down." 

"Troth,"  said  Mr.  Lockhard,  "  and  such  be  the  case  I  think  /      ~ 
the  wisest  thing  for  us  a'  wad  be  to  hammer  up  a  match  between  (^./y^y 
your  young  lord  and  our  winsome  young  leddy  up  by  there  ;  A,^ .  itSJ^^ 
and    Sir   William   might  just  stitch  your  old  barony    to  her^'     ^  ■ 
gown-sleeve,  and  he  wad  sune  cuitle*  another  out  o'  somebody 
else,  sic  a  lang  head  as  he  has." 

Caleb  shook  his  head. — "  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  that  may 
answer,  Mr.  Lockhard.  There  are  auld  prophecies  about  this 
house  I  wad  like  ill  to  see  fulfilled  wi'  my  auld  e'en,  that  has 
seen  evil  eneugh  already." 

*  Cuitle  may  answer  to  the  elegant  modern  phrase  diddle. 


no  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"Pshaw  !  never  mind  freits,"  said  his  brother  butler ;  "if 
iiht  young  folk  liked  ane  anither,  they  wad  make  a  winsome 
couple.  But,  to  say  truth,  there  is  a  leddy  sits  in  our  hall-neuk, 
maun  have  her  hand  in  that  as  well  as  in  every  other  job.  But 
there's  no  harm  in  drinking  to  their  healths,  and  I  will  fill  Mrs. 
Mysie  a  cup  of  Mr.  Girder's  Canary." 

While  they  thus  enjoyed  themselves  in  the  kitchen,  the  com- 
pany in  the  hall  were  not  less  pleasantly  engaged.  So  soon  as 
Ravenswood  had  determined  upon  giving  the  Lord  Keeper  such 
hospitality  as  he  had  to  offer,  he  deemed  it  incumbent  on  him 
to  assume  the  open  and  courteous  brow  of  a  well-pleased  host. 
It  has  been  often  remarked,  that  when  a  man  commences  by 
acting  a  character,  he  frequently  ends  by  adopting  it  in  good 
earnest.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two,  Ravenswood,  to  his 
own  surprise,  found  himself  in  the  situation  of  one  who  frankly 
does  his  best  to  entertain  welcome  and  honored  guests.  How 
much  of  this  change  in  his  disposition  was  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
beauty  and  simplicity  of  Miss  Ashton,  to  the  readiness  with 
which  she  accommodated  herself  to  the  inconveniencies  of  her 
situation — how  much  to  the  smooth  and  plausible  conversation 
of  the  Lord  Keeper,  remarkably  gifted  with  those  words  which 
win  the  ear,  must  be  left  to  the  reader's  ingenuity  to  conjecture. 
But  Ravenswood  was  insensible  to  neither. 

The  Lord  Keeper  was  a  veteran  statesman,  well  acquainted 
with  courts  and  cabinets,  and  mtimate  with  all  the  various 
turns  of  public  affairs  during  the  last  eventful  years  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  He  could  talk,  from  his  own  knowledge, 
of  men  and  events,  in  a  way  which  failed  not  to  win  attention, 
and  had  the  peculiar  art,  while  he  never  said  a  word  which 
committed  himself,  at  the  same  time,  to  persuade  the  hearer 
that  he  was  speaking  without  the  least  shadow  of  scrupulous 
caution  or  reserve.  Ravenswood,  in  spite  of  his  prejudices, 
and  real  grounds  of  resentment,  felt  himself  at  once  amused 
and  instructed  in  listening  to  him,  while  the  statesman,  whose 
inward  feelings  had  at  first  so  much  impeded  his  efforts  to 
make  himself  known,  had  now  regained  all  the  ease  and  fluency 
of  a  silver-tongued  lawyer  of  the  very  highest  order. 

His  daughter  did  not  speak  much,  but  she  smiled  ;  and 
what  she  did  say  argued  a  submissive  gentleness,  and  a  desire 
to  give  pleasure,  which,  to  a  proud  man  like  Ravenswood,  was 
more  fascinating  than  the  most  brilliant  wit.  Above  all,  he 
could  not  but  observe  that,  whether  from  gratitude,  or  from 
some  other  motive,  he  himself,  in  his  deserted  and  unprovided 
ball,  was  as  much  the  object  of  respectful  attention  to  his 
guests,  as  he  would  have  been  when  surrounded  by   all  the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


lit 


appliances  and  means  of  hospitality  proper  to  his  high  birth. 
All  deficiencies  passed  unobserved,  or  if  they  did  not  escape 
notice,  it  was  to  praise  the  substitutes  which  Caleb  had  con- 
trived to  supply  the  want  of  the  usual  accommodations.  Where 
a  smile  was  unavoidable,  it  was  a  very  good-humored  one,  and 
often  coupled  with  some  well-turned  compliment,  to  show  how 
much  the  guests  esteemed  the  merits  of  their  noble  host,  how 
little  they  thought  of  the  inconveniencies  with  which  they  were 
surrounded.  I  am  not  sure  whether  the  pride  of  being  found 
to  outbalance,  in  virtue  of  his  own  personal  merit,  all  the  dis- 
advantages of  fortune,  did  not  make  as  favorable  an  impression 
upon  the  haughty  heart  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  as  the 
conversation  of  the  father  and  the  beauty  of  Lucy  Ashton. 

The  hour  of  repose  arrived.  The  Keeper  and  his  daughter 
retired  to  their  apartments,  which  were  "  decored  "  more  prop- 
erly than  could  have  been  anticipated.  In  making  the  neces- 
sary arrangements,  Mysie  had  indeed  enjoyed  the  assistance 
of  a  gossip  who  had  arrived  from  the  village  upon  an  ex- 
ploratory expedition,  but  had  been  arrested  by  Caleb,  and  im- 
pressed into  the  domestic  drudgery  of  the  evening.  So  that, 
instead  of  returning  home  to  describe  the  dress  and  person  of 
the  grand  young  lady,  she  found  herself  compelled  to  be  active 
in  the  domestic  economy  of  Wolf's  Crag. 

According  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  attended  the  Lord  Keeper  to  his  apartment,  followed  b;j 
Caleb,  who  placed  on  the  table,  with  all  the  ceremonials  due 
to  torches  of  wax,  two  rudely-framed  tallow-candles,  such  as  in 
those  days  were  only  used  by  the  peasantry,  hooped  in  paltry 
clasps  of  wire,  which  served  for  candlesticks.  He  then  disap- 
peared, and  presently  entered  with  two  earthen  flagons  (the 
china,  he  said,  had  been  little  used  since  my  lady's  time),  one 
filled  with  Canary  wine,  the  other  with  brandy.*  The  Canary 
sack,  unheeding  all  probabilities  of  detection,  he  declared  had 
been  twenty  years  in  the  cellars  of  Wolf's  Crag,  "  though  it 
was  not  for  him  to  speak  before  their  honors  ;  the  brandy — it 
was  weel-kend  liquor,  as  mild  as  mead,  and  as  strong  as  Sam- 
son— it  had  been  in  the  house  ever  since  the  memorable  revel, 
in  which  auld  Micklestob  had  been  slain  at  the  head  of  the 
stair  by  Jamie  of  Jenklebrae,  on  account  of  the  honor  of  the 
worshipful  Lady  Muriend,  wha  was  in  some  sort  an  ally  of  the 
family  ;  natheless  " 

"  But  to  cut  that  matter  short,  Mr.  Caleb,"  said  the  Keeper, 
"  perhaps  you  will  favor  me  with  a  ewer  of  water." 

♦  Note  F.     Ancient  Hospitality. 


il2  THE  BKIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

"  God  forbid  your  lordship  should  drink  water  in  this 
family,"  replied  Caleb,  "  to  the  disgrace  of  so  honorable  an 
house !  " 

"  Nevertheless,  if  his  lordship  have  a  fancy,"  said  the  Master, 
smiling,  "  I  think  you  might  indulge  him  ;  for,  if  I  mistake  not, 
there  has  been  water  drank  here  at  no  distant  date,  and  with 
good  relish  too." 

"To  be  sure,  if  his  lordship  has  a  fancy,"  said  Caleb  ;  and 
re-entering  with  a  jug  of  pure  element — "  He  will  scarce  find 
such  water  onywhere  as  is  drawn  frae  the  well  at  Wolf's  Crag 
— nevertheless  " 

"  Nevertheless,  we  must  leave  the  Lord  Keeper  to  his  repose 
in  this  poor  chamber  of  ours,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
interrupting  his  talkative  domestic,  who  immediately  turning  to 
the  doorway,  with  a  profound  reverence,  prepared  to  usher  his 
master  from  the  secret  chamber. 

But  the  Lord  Keeper  prevented  his  host's  departure — "  I 
have  but  one  word  to  say  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  Mr. 
Caleb,  and  I  fancy  he  will  excuse  your  waiting." 

With  a  second  reverence,  lower  than  the  former,  Caleb  with- 
drew— and  his  master  stood  motionless,  expecting,  with  consid- 
erable embarrassment,  what  was  to  close  the  events  of  a  day 
fraught  with  unexpected  incidents. 

"  Master  of  Ravenswood,"  said  Sir  William  Ashton  with 
some  embarrassment,  "  I  hope  you  understand  the  Christian 
law  too  well  to  suffer  the  sun  to  set  upon  your  anger." 

The  Master  blushed  and  replied,  "  He  had  no  occasion  that 
evening  to  exercise  the  duty  enjoined  upon  him  by  his  Chris- 
tian faith." 

"  I  should  have  thought  otherwise,"  said  his  guest,  "  consid 
ering  the  various  subjects  of  dispute  and  litigation  which  have 
unhappily  occurred  more  frequently  than  was  desirable  or 
necessary  betwixt  the  late  honorable  lord,  your  father,  and  my- 
self." 

"  I  could  wish,  my  lord,"  said  Ravenswood,  agitated  by  sup- 
pressed emotion,  "  that  reference  to  these  circumstances  should 
be  made  anywhere  rather  than  under  my  father's  roof." 

*'  I  should  have  felt  the  delicacy  of  this  appeal  at  another 
time,"  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  "but,  now  1  must  proceed 
with  what  I  mean  to  say. — I  have  suffered  too  much  in  my  own 
mind,  from  the  false  delicacy  which  prevented  my  soliciting 
with  earnestness,  what  indeed  I  frequently  requested,  a  personal 
communing  with  your  father — much  distress  of  mind  to  him  and 
\o  me  might  have  been  prevented." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Ravenswood,  after  a  moment's  reflection; 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMCOR.  u^ 

"  I  have  heard  my  father  say  your  lordship  had  proposed  a 
personal  interview." 

"  Proposed,  my  dear  Master  ?  I  did  indeed  propose  it,  but 
I  ought  to  have  begged,  entreated,  beseeched  it.  I  ought  to 
have  torn  away  the  veil  which  interested  persons  had  stretched 
betwixt  us,  and  shown  myself,  as  I  was,  willing  to  sacrifice  a 
considerable  part  even  of  my  legal  rights,  in  order  to  conciliate 
feelings  so  natural  as  his  must  be  allowed  to  have  been.  Let 
me  say  for  myself,  my  young  friend,  for  so  I  will  call  you,  that 
had  your  father  and  I  spent  the  same  time  together  which  my 
good  fortune  has  allowed  me  to-day  to  pass  in  your  company, 
it  is  possible  the  land  might  yet  have  enjoyed  one  of  the  most 
respectable  of  its  ancient  nobility,  and  I  should  have  been 
spared  the  pain  of  parting  in  enmity  from  a  person  whose 
general  character  I  so  much  admired  and  honored." 

He  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  Ravenswood  also  was 
moved,  but  awaited  in  silence  the  progress  of  this  extraordinary 
communication. 

"  It  is  necessary,"  continued  the  Lord  Keeper,  "and  proper 
that  you  should  understand,  that  there  have  been  many  points 
betwixt  us,  in  which,  although  I  judged  it  proper  that  there 
should  be  an  exact  ascertainment  of  my  legal  rights  by  the  de- 
cree of  a  court  of  justice,  yet  it  was  never  my  intention  to  press 
them  beyond  the  verge  of  equity." 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  "  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  pursue  this  topic  further.  What  the  law  will  give  you, 
or  has  given  you,  you  enjoy — or  you  shall  enjoy  ;  neither  my 
father,  nor  myself,  would  have  received  anything  on  the  footing 
of  favor." 

"Favor?  —  no  —  you  misunderstand  me,"  resumed  the 
Keeper  ;  "  or  rather  you  are  no  lawyer.  A  right  may  be  good 
in  law,  and  ascertained  to  be  so,  which  yet  a  man  of  honor  may 
not  in  every  case  care  to  avail  himself  of." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,  my  lord,"  said  the  Master. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  retorted  his  guest,  "  you  speak  like  a  young 
counselor;  your  spirit  goes  before  your  wit.  There  are  many 
things  still  open  for  decision  betwixt  us.  Can  you  blame  me, 
an  old  man  desirous  of  peace,  and  in  the  castle  of  a  young 
nobleman  who  has  saved  my  daughter's  life  and  my  own,  that  I 
am  desirous,  anxiously  desirous,  that  these  should  be  settled  on 
the  most  liberal  principles  ?  " 

The  old  man  kept  fast  hold  of  the  Master's  passive  hand  as 
he  spoke,  and  made  it  impossible  for  him,  be  his  predetermina- 
tion what  it  would,  to  return  any  other  than  an  acquiescent  reply; 


,14  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

and  wishing  his  guest  good-night,  he  postponed  farther  confer 
ence  until  the  next  morning. 

Ravenswood  hurried  into  the  hall,  where  he  was  to  spend 
the  night,  and  for  a  time  traversed  its  pavement  with  a  dis- 
ordered and  rapid  pace.  His  mortal  foe  was  under  his  roof, 
yet  his  sentiments  toward  him  were  neither  those  of  a  feudal 
enemy  nor  of  a  true  Christian,  He  felt  as  if  he  could  neither 
forgive  him  in  the  one  character,  nor  follow  forth  his  vengeance 
in  the  other,  but  that  he  was  making  a  base  and  dishonorable 
composition  betwixt  his  resentment  against  the  father,  and  his 
affection  for  his  daughter.  He  cursed  himself  as  he  hurried  to 
and  fro  in  the  pale  moonlight,  and  more  ruddy  gleams  of  the 
expiring  wood  fire.  He  threw  open  and  shut  the  latticed  win- 
dows with  violence,  as  if  alike  impatient  of  the  admission  and 
exclusion  of  free  air.  At  length,  however,  the  torrent  of  passion 
foamed  ofT  its  madness,  and  he  flung  himself  into  the  chair, 
which  he  proposed  as  his  place  of  repose  for  the  night. 

If,  in  reality, — such  were  the  calmer  thoughts  that  followed 
the  first  tempest  of  his  passion, — if,  in  reality,  this  man  desires 
no  more  than  the  law  allows  him — if  he  is  willing  to  adjust 
even  his  acknowledged  rights  upon  an  equitable  footing,  what 
could  be  my  father's  cause  of  complaint? — what  is  mine?  — 
Those  from  whom  we  won  our  ancient  possessions  fell  under 
the  sword  of  my  ancestors,  and  left  lands  and  livings  of  the  con- 
querers  ;  we  sink  under  the  force  of  the  law,  now  too  powerful 
for  the  Scottish  chivalry.  Let  us  parley  with  *Jie  victors  of  the 
day,  as  if  we  had  been  besieged  in  our  fortress,  and  without 
hope  of  relief.  This  man  may  be  other  than  I  have  thought 
him  ;  and  his  daughter — but  I  have  resolved  not  think  of  her. 

He  wrapt  his  cloak  around  him,  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of 
Lucy  Ashton  till  daylight  gleamed  through  the  lattices. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEENTH. 

"  We  worldly  men,  when  we  see  friends  and  kinsman 
Past  hoi)e  sunk  in  their  fortunes,  lend  no  hand 
To  lift  them  up,  but  rather  set  our  feet 
Upon  their  heads  to  press  them  to  the  bottom, 
As  I  must  yield  with  you  I  practised  it ; 
But  now  I  see  you  in  a  way  to  rise, 
I  can  and  will  assist  you." 

New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts. 

The  Lord  Keeper  carried  with  him  to  a  couch  harder  than 
he  was  accustomed  to  stretch  himself  upon,  the  same  ambitious 
thoughts  and  political  perplexities,  which  drive  sleep  from  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  K 

softest  down  that  ever  spread  a  bed  of  state.  He  had  sailed 
long  enough  amid  the  contending  tides  and  currents  of  the  time 
to  be  sensible  of  their  peril,  and  of  the  necessity  of  trimming 
his  vessel  to  the  prevailing  wind,  if  he  would  have  her  escape 
shipwreck  in  the  storm.  The  nature  of  his  talents,  and  the 
timorousness  of  disposition  connected  with  them,  had  made  him 
assume  the  pliability  of  the  versatile  old  Earl  of  Northampton, 
who  explained  the  art  by  which  he  kept  his  ground  during  all 
the  changes  of  state,  from  the  reign  of  Henry  VI H.  to  that  of 
Elizabeth,  by  the  frank  avowal,  that  he  was  born  of  the  wil- 
low, not  of  the  oak.  It  had  accordingly  been  Sir  William  Ash- 
ton's  policy,  on  all  occasions,  to  watch  the  changes  in  the  polit' 
ical  horizon,  and,  ere  yet  the  conflict  was  decided,  to  negotiate 
some  interest  for  himself  with  the  party  most  likely  to  prove 
victorious.  His  time-serving  disposition  was  well  known,  and 
excited  contempt  of  the  more  daring  leaders  of  both  factions  in 
the  state.  But  his  talents  were  of  a  useful  and  practical  kind, 
and  his  legal  knowledge  held  in  high  estimation  ;  and  they  so 
far  counterbalanced  other  deficiencies,  that  those  in  power  were 
glad  to  use  and  to  reward,  though  without  absolutely  trusting  or 
greatly  respecting  him. 

The  Marquis   of   A had   used  his  utmost  influence  to 

efifect  a  change  in  the  Scottish  cabinet,  and  his  schemes  had 
been  of  late  so  well  laid  and  so  ably  supported,  that  there 
appeared  a  very  great  chance  of  his  proving  ultimately  success- 
ful. He  did  not,  however,  feel  so  strong  or  so  confident  as  to 
neglect  any  means  of  drawing  recruits  to  his  standard.  The 
acquisition  of  the  Lord  Keeper  was  deemed  of  some  import- 
ance, and  a  friend,  perfectly  acquainted  with  his  circumstances 
and  character,  became  responsible  for  his  political  conversion. 

When  this  gentleman  arrived  at  Ravenswood  Castle  upon  a 
visit,  the  real  purpose  of  which  was  disguised  under  general 
courtesy,  he  found  the  prevailing  fear  which  at  present  beset 
the  Lord  Keeper  was  that  of  danger  to  his  own  person  from 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  The  language  which  the  blind 
sibyl  old  Alice  had  used ;  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Mas- 
ter, armed,  and  within  his  precincts,  immediately  after  he  had 
been  warned  against  danger  from  him  ;  the  cold  and  haughty 
return  received  in  exchange  for  the  acknowledgments  with 
which  he  loaded  him  for  his  timely  protection,  had  aU  made  a 
strong  impression  on  his  imagination. 

So  soon  as  the  Marquis's  political  agent  found  how  the 
wind  sat,  he  began  to  insinuate  fears  and  doubts  of  another 
kind,  scarce  less  calculated  to  affect  the  Lord  Keeper.  He  in- 
quired with  seeming  interest  whether  the  proceedings  in  Sir 


Ii6  THE  BR  WE   OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

William's  complicated  litigation  with  the  Ravenswood  family 
were  out  of  court,  and  settled  without  the  possibility  of  appeal ! 
The  Lord  Keeper  answered  in  the  afhrmative  ;  but  his  interro- 
gator was  too  well  informed  to  be  imposed  upon.  He  pointed 
out  to  him,  by  unanswerable  arguments,  that  some  of  the  most 
important  points  which  had  been  decided  in  his  favor  against 
the  house  of  Ravenswood  were  liable,  under  the  Treaty  of 
Union,  to  be  reviewed  by  the  British  House  of  Peers,  a  court 
of  equity  of  which  the  Lord  Keeper  felt  an  instinctive  dread. 
This  course  came  instead  of  an  appeal  to  the  old  Scottish  Par- 
liament, or,  as  it  was  technically  termed,  "  a  protestation  fo! 
remeid  in  law." 

The  Lord  Keeper,  after  he  had  for  some  time  disputed  the 
legality  of  such  a  proceeding,  was  compelled  at  length  to  com- 
fort himself  with  the  improbability  of  the  young  Master  of 
Ravenswood's  finding  friends  in  parliam-jnt  capable  of  stirring 
in  so  weighty  an  affair. 

"  Do  not  comfort  yourself  with  that  false  hope,"  said  his 
wily  friend  ;  "  it  is  possible  that  in  the  next  session  of  parlia- 
ment young  Ravenswood  may  find  more  friends  and  favor  even 
than  your  lordship." 

"  That  would  be  a  sight  worth  seeing,"  said  the  Keeper, 
scornfully. 

"  And  yet,"  said  his  friend,  "  such  things  have  been  seen 

ere  now,  and  in  our  own  time.     There  are  many  at  the  head  of 

affairs  even  now,  that  a  few  years  ago  were  under  hiding  for 

their  lives ;  and  many  a  man  now  dines  on  plate  of  silver  that 

.  was  fain  to  eat  his  crowdy  without  a  bicker ;  and  many  a  high 

)f       rjiead  has  been  brought  full  low  among  us  in  as  short  a  space. 

\^Scott  of  Scotstarvet's  '  Staggering  State  of  Scots  Statesmen"^  of 

which  curious  memoir  you  showed  me  a  manuscript,  has  been 

out-staggered  in  our  time." 

The  Lord  Keeper  answered  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  that  these 
mutations  were  no  new  sights  in  Scotland,  and  had  been  wit- 
nessed long  before  the  time  of  the  satirical  author  he  had 
quoted.  It  was  many  a  long  year,"  he  said,  "  since  Fordun 
had  quoted  as  an  ancient  proverb,  '' N^eque  dives,  neqne  fortis, 
sed  nee  sapiens  Scotus,  prcedominante  invidia,  din  diirabit  in 
terra:  " 

"  And  be  assured,  my  esteemed  friend,"  was  the  answer, 
"that  even  your  long  services  to  the  state,  or  deep  legal  knowl- 
edge, will  not  save  you,  or  render  your  estate  stable,  if  the  Mar« 

quis  of  A ■  comes  in  with  a  party  in  the  British  Parliament 

You  know  that  the  deceased  Lord  Ravenswood  was  his  near  ally, 
his  lady  being  fifth  in  descent  from  the  Knight  of  Tillibardine 


I 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


117 


and  I  am  well  assured  that  he  will  take  young  Ravenswood  by 

the  hand,  and  be  his  very  good  lord  and  kinsman.     Why  should 

he  not  ? — The  Master  is  an  active  and  stirring  young  fellow, 

able  to  help  himself  with  tongue  and  hands  ;    and  it  is  such  as 

he  that  finds  friends  among  their  kindred,   and  not  those  un 

armed  and  unable  Mephibosheths,)that  are  sure  to  be  a  burden  ^^JjO^^ 

to  every  one  that  takes  tlTem  up.  'And  so,  if  these  Ravenswood  |4j%*j*i 

cases  be  called  over  the  cecals  in  the  House  of  Peers,  you  will       \ 

find  that  the  Marquis  will  have  a^crow  to  pluck  with  you." 

"  That  would  be  an  evil  requital,'*^~said  the  Lord  Keeper, 
"  for  my  long  services  to  the  state,  and  the  ancient  respect  in 
which  I  have  held  his  lordship's  honorable  family  and  person." 

"  Ay,  but,"  rejoined  the  agent  of  the  Marquis,  "  it  is  in  vain 
to  look  back  on  past  service  and  auld  respect,  my  lord — it  will 
be  present  service  and  immediate  proofs  of  regard,  which,  in 
these  sliddery  times,  will  be  expected  by  a  man  like  the  Mar- 
quis." 

The  Lord  Keeper  now  saw  the  full  drift  of  his  friend's  ar- 
gument, but  he  was  too  cautious  to  return  any  positive  answer. 

"  He  knew  not,"  he  said,  "  the  service  which  the  Lord  Mar- 
quis could  expect  from  one  of  his  limited  abilities,  that  had  not 
always  stood  at  his  command,  still  saving  and  reserving  his 
duty  to  his  king  and  country." 

Having  thus  said  nothing,  while  he  seemed  to  say  everything, 
for  the  exception  was  calculated  to  cover  whatever  he  might 
afterward  think  proper  to  bring  under  it.  Sir  William  Ashton 
changed  the  conversation,  nor  did  he  again  permit  the  same 
topic  to  be  introduced.  His  guest  departed  without  having 
brought  the  wily  old  statesman  the  length  of  committing  himself, 
or  of  pledging  himself,  to  any  future  line  of  conduct,  but  with 
the  certainty  that  he  had  alarmed  his  fears  in  a  most  sensible 
point,  and  laid  a  foundation  for  future  and  further  treaty. 

When  he  rendered  an  account  of  his  negotiation  to  the  Mar- 
quis, they  both  agreed  that  the  Keeper  ought  not  to  be  permitted 
to  relapse  into  security,  and  that  he  should  be  plied  with  new 
subjects  of  alarm,  especially  during  the  absence  of  his  lady. 
They  were  well  aware  that  her  proud,  vindictive,  and  predomi- 
nating spirit  would  be  likely  to  supply  him  with  the  courage  in 
which  he  was  deficient — that  she  was  immovably  attached  to 
the  party  now  in  power,  with  whom  she  maintained  a  close  cor- 
respondence and  alliance,  and  that  she  hated,  without  fearing, 
the  Ravenswood  family  (whose  more  ancient  dignity  threw  dis- 
credit on  the  newly-acquired  grandeur  of  her  husband),  to  such 
a  degree,  ihat  she  would  have  periled  the  interest  of  her  own 


,lg  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

house  to  have  the  prospect  of  altogether  crushing  that  of  het 
enemy. 

But  Lady  Ashton  was  now  absent.  The  business  which  had 
long  detained  her  in  Edinburgh,  had  afterward  induced  her  to 
travel  to  London,  not  without  the  hope  that  she  might  contribute 
her  share  to  disconcert  the  intrigues  of  the  Marquis  at  court  , 
for  she  stood  high  in  favor  with  the  celebrated  Sarah,  Duchess 
of  Marlborough,  to  whom,  in  point  of  character,  she  bore  con 
siderable  resemblance.  It  was  necessary  to  press  her  hus- 
band hard  before  her  return  ;  and,  as  a  preparatory  step,  the 
Marquis  wrote  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  the  letter  which 
we  rehearsed  in  a  former  chapter.  It  was  cautiously  worded, 
so  as  to  leave  it  in  the  power  of  the  writer  hereafter  to  take  as 
deep,  or  as  slight  an  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  his  kinsman,  as 
the  progress  of  his  own  schemes  might  require.  But,  however 
unwilling,  as  a  statesman,  the  Marquis  might  be  to  commit 
himself,  or  assume  the  character  of  a  patron,  while  he  had 
nothing  to  give  away,  it  must  be  said  to  his  honor,  that  he  felt 
a  strong  inclination  effectually  to  befriend  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  as  well  as  to  use  his  name  as  a  means  of  alarming 
the  terrors  of  the  Lord  Keeper. 

As  the  messenger  who  carried  this  letter  was  to  pass  neat 
the  house  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  he  had  it  in  direction,  that,  in 
the  village  adjoining  to  the  park-gate  of  the  castle,  his  horse 
should  lose  a  shoe,  and  that,  while  it  was  replaced  by  the  smith 
of  the  place,  he  should  express  the  utmost  regret  for  the  neces- 
sary loss  of  time,  and  in  the  vehemence  of  his  impatience,  give 
it  to  be  understood,  that  he  was  bearing  a  message  from  the 

Marquis  of  A to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  upon  a  matter 

of  life  and  death. 

This  news,  with  exaggerations,  was  speedily  carried  from 
various  quarters  to  the  ears  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  each 
reporter  dwelt  upon  the  extreme  impatience  of  the  courier,  and 
the  surprising  short  time  in  which  he  had  executed  his  journey. 
The  anxious  statesman  heard  in  silence  ;  but  in  private  Lock- 
hard  received  orders  to  watch  the  courier  on  his  return,  to 
waylay  him  in  the  village,  to  ply  him  with  liquor  if  possible, 
and  to  use  all  means,  fair  or  foul,  to  learn  the  contents  of  the 
letter  of  which  he  was  the  bearer.  But  as  this  plot  had  been 
foreseen,  the  messenger  returned  by  a  different  and  distant  road, 
and  thus  escaped  the  snare  that  was  laid  for  him. 

After  he  had  been  in  vain  expected  for  some  time,  Mr.  Ding« 
wall  had  orders  to  make  especial  inquiry  among  his  clients  of 
Wolf's  Hope,  whether  such  a  domestic  belonging  to  the  Mar 
quis  of  A had  actually  arrived  at  the  neighboring  castie. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR  119 

This  was  easily  ascertained  ;  for  Caleb  had  been  in  the  village 
one  morning  by  five  o'clock,  to  "  borrow  twa  chappins  of  ale 
and  a  kipper  "  for  the  messenger's  refreshment,  and  the  poor 
fellow  had  been  ill  for  twenty-four  hours  at  Luckie  Sma'trash's, 
in  consequence  of  dining  upon  "  saut  saumon  and  sour  drink." 
So  that  the  existence  of  a  correspondence  betwixt  the  Marquis 
and  his  distressed  kinsman,  which  Sir  William  Ashton  had 
sometimes  treated  as  a  bugbear,  was  proved  beyond  the  possi- 
bility of  further  doubt. 

The  alarm  of  the  Lord  Keeper  became  very  serious.  Since 
the  Claim  of  Right,  the  power  of  appealing  from  the  decisions 
of  the  civil  court  to  the  Estates  of  Parliament,  which  had  for- 
merly been  held  incompetent,  had  in  many  instances  been 
claimed,  and  in  some  allowed,  and  he  had  no  small  reason  to 
apprehend  the  issue,  if  the  English  House  of  Lords  should  be 
disposed  to  act  upon  an  appeal  from  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
''  for  remeid  in  law."  It  would  resolve  into  an  equitable  claim, 
and  be  decided,  perhaps,  upon  the  broad  principles  of  justice, 
which  were  not  quite  so  favorable  to  the  Lord  Keeper  as  thosf 
of  strict  law.  Besides,  judging,  though  most  inaccurately,  from 
courts  which  he  had  himself  known  in  the  unhappy  times  pre- 
ceding the  Scottish  Union,  the  Keeper  might  have  too  much 
right  to  think,  that  in  the  House  to  which  his  lawsuits  were  to 
be  transferred,  the  old  maxim  might  prevail.. in  Scotland  which 
was  too  well  recognized  in  former  times, — ^(^Show  me  the  man, 
and  I'll  show  you  the  law.'*}  The  high  and  unbiased  character 
of  English  judicial  proceedings  was  then  little  known  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  the  extension  of  them  to  that  country  was  one  of  the 
most  valuable  advantages  which  it  gained  by  the  Union.  But 
this  was  a  blessing  which  the  Lord  Keeper,  who  had  lived  under 
another  system,  could  not  have  the  means  of  foreseeing.  In 
the  loss  of  his  political  consequence,  he  anticipated  the  loss  of 
his  lawsuit.  Meanwhile,  every  report  which  reached  him  served 
to  render  the  success  of  the  Marquis's  intrigues  the  more  prob- 
able, and  the  Lord  Keeper  began  to  think  it  indispensable, 
that  he  should  look  round  for  some  kind  of  protection  against 
the  coming  storm.  The  timidity  of  his  temper  induced  him  to 
adopt  measures  of  compromise  and  conciliation.  The  affair  of 
the  wild  bull,  properly  managed,  might,  he  thought,  be  made  to 
facilitate  a  personal  communication  and  reconciliation  betwixt 
the  Master  and  himself.  He  would  then  learn,  if  possible,  what' 
his  own  ideas  were  of  the  extent  of  his  rights,  and  the  means 
of  enforcing  them  ;  and  perhaps  matters  might  be  brought  to  a 
compromise,  where  one  party  was  wealthy,  and  the  other  so 
very  poor.     A  reconciliation   with  Ravenswood  was  likely  to 


I20  THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM ER  MOOR. 

give  him  an  opportunity  to  play  his  own  game  with  the  Mar 

quis  of  A .     "  And  besides,''  said  he  to  himself,  "  it  will  be 

an  act  of  generosity  to  raise  up  the  heir  of  this  distressed 
family  ;  and  if  he  is  to  be  warmly  and  effectually  befriended  by 
the  new  government,  who  knows  but  my  virtue  may  prove  its 
own  reward  ?  " 

Thus  thought  Sir  William  Ashton,  covering  with  no  unusual 
self-delusion  his  interested  views  with  a  hue  of  virtue  ;  and  hav- 
ing attained  this  point,  his  fancy  strayed   still  further.     He  be- 
,  gan  to  bethink  himself,  "  that  if  Ravenswood  was  to  have  a  dis- 
^.v/'    ,  tinguished  place  of  power  and  trust — and  if  such  a  union  should 
•  ••.'*     sopite  the  heavier  part  of  his  unadjusted   claims — there  might 
^         be  worse  matches  for  his  daughter  Lucy — the   Master  might 
be  reponed   against   the   attainder — Lord  Ravenswood  was  an 
ancient  title,  and  the  alliance  would,  in  some  measure,  legitimate 
his  own  possession  of  the  greater  part  of  the  Master's  spoils,  and 
make  the  surrender  of  the  rest  a  subject  of  less  bitter  regret." 

With  these  mingled  and  multifarious  plans  occupying  his 
head,  the  Lord  Keeper  availed  himself  of  my  Lord  Bittlebrains' 
repeated  invitation  to  his  residence,  and  thus  came  within  a 
very  few  miles  of  Wolf's  Crag.  Here  he  found  the  lord  of  the 
mansion  absent,  but  was  courteously  received  by  the  lady,  who 
expected  her  husband's  immediate  return.  She  expressed  her 
particular  delight  at  seeing  Miss  Ashton,  and  appointed  the 
hounds  to  be  taken  out  for  the  Lord  Keeper's  special  amuse- 
ment. He  readily  entered  into  the  proposal,  as  giving  him  an 
opportunity  to  reconnoitre  Wolf's  Crag,  and  perhaps  to  make 
some  acquaintance  with  the  owner,  if  he  should  be  tempted  from 
his  desolate  mansion  by  the  chase.  Lockhard  had  his  orders 
to  endeavor  on  his  part  to  make  some  acquaintance  with  the 
inmates  of  the  castle,  and  we  have  seen  how  he  played  his 
part. 

The  accidental  storm  did  more  to  further  the  Lord  Keeper's 
plan  of  forming  a  personal  acquaintance  with  young  Ravenswood, 
than  his  most  sanguine  expectations  could  have  anticipated. 
His  fear  of  the  young  nobleman's  personal  resentment  had 
greatly  decreased,  since  he  considered  him  as  formidable  from 
his  legal  claims,  and  the  means  he  might  have  of  enforcing 
them.  But  although  he  thought,  not  unreasonably,  that  only 
desperate  circumstances  drove  men  on  desperate  measures,  it 
was  not  without  a  secret  terror,  which  shook  his  heart  within 
him,  that  he  first  felt  himself  enclosed  within  the  desolate 
Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag  ;  a  place  so  well  fitted,  from  solitude  and 
strength,  to  be  a  scene  of  violence  and  vengeance.  The  stern 
reception  at  first  given  to  them  by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOK.  X2i 

and  the  difficulty  he  felt  in  explaining  to  that  injured  nobleman 
what  guests  were  under  the  shelter  of  his  roof,  did  not  soothe 
these  alarms ;  so  that  when  Sir  William  Ashton  heard  the 
door  of  the  courtyard  shut  behind  him  with  violence,  the  words 
of  Alice  rung  in  his  ears,  "  that  he  had  drawn  on  matters  too 
hardly  with  so  fierce  a  race  as  those  of  Ravenswood,  and  that 
they  would  bide  their  time  to  be  avenged." 

The  subsequent  frankness  of  the  Master's  hospitality,  as 
their  acquaintance  increased,  abated  the  apprehensions  those 
recollections  were  calculated  to  excite  ;  and  it  did  not  escape 
Sir  William  Ashton,  that  it  was  to  Lucy's  grace  and  beauty  he 
owed  the  change  in  their  host's  behavior. 

All  these  thoughts  thronged  upon  him  when  he  took  posses- 
sion of  the  secret  chamber.  The  iron  lamp,  the  unfurnished 
apartment,  more  resembling  a  prison  than  a  place  of  ordinary 
repose,  the  hoarse  and  ceaseless  sound  of  the  waves  rushing 
against  the  base  of  the  rock  on  which  the  castle  was  founded, 
saddened  and  perplexed  his  mind.  To  his  own  successful 
machinations,  the  ruin  of  the  family  had  been  in  a  great  measure 
owing,  but  his  disposition  was  crafty  and  not  cruel ;  so  that  ac» 
tually  to  witness  the  desolation  and  distress  he  had  himself 
occasioned,  was  as  painful  to  him  as  it  would  be  to  the  humane 
mistress  of  a  family  to  superintend  in  person  the  execution  of 
the  lambs  and  poultry  which  are  killed  by  her  own  directions. 
At  the  same  tiiue,  when  he  thought  of  the  alternative  of  restor- 
ing to  Ravenswood  a  large  proportion  of  his  spoils,  or  of  adopt- 
ing, as  an  ally  and  member  of  his  own  family,  the  heir  of  this 
impoverished  house,  he  felt  as  the  spider  may  be  supposed  to 
do,  when  his  whole  web,  the  intricacies  of  which  had  been 
planned  with  so  much  art,  is  destroyed  by  the  chance  sweep 
of  a  broom.  And  then,  if  he  should  commit  himself  too  far  in 
this  matter,  it  gave  rise  to  a  perilous  question  which  many  a 
good  husband,  when  under  temptation  to  act  as  a  free  agent, 
has  asked  himself  without  being  able  to  return  a  satisfactory  ■  j 

answer;  "  What  will  jny  wife— what  will  Lady  Ashton  say  ?'^('-w^  "^ 
On  the  whole,  he  came  at  length  to  the  resolution  in  which  minds  .x#-w.(U/  v 
of  a  weaker  cast  so  often  take  refuge.     He  resolved  to  watch  '■    Jljj^j,^ 
events,   to  take  advantage   of  circumstances  as  they  occurred, 
and  regulate  his  conduct  accordingly.     In  this  spirit  of  temporiz- 
ing policy,  he  at  length  composed  his  mind  to  rest. 


122  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEENTH. 

A  slight  note  I  have  about  me  for  you,  for  the  delivery  of  which  you  must 
excuse  me.  It  is  an  offer  that  friendship  calls  upon  me  to  do,  and  no 
way  offensive  to  you,  since  I  desire  nothing  but  right  upon  both 
sides. 

King  and  no  King. 

When  Ravenswood  and  his  guest  met  in  the  morning,  the 
gloom  of  the  Master's  spirit  had  in  part  returned.  He,  also, 
had  passed  a  night  rather  of  reflection  than  of  slumber ;  and 
the  feelings  which  he  could  not  but  entertain  toward  Lucy 
Ashton,  had  to  support  a  severe  conflict  against  those  which  he 
had  so  long  nourished  against  her  father.  To  clasp  in  friend- 
ship the  hand  of  the  enemy  of  his  house,  to  entertain  him  under 
his  roof,  to  exchange  with  him  the  courtesies  and  the  kindness 
of  domestic  familiarity,  was  a  degradation  which  his  proud  spirit 
could  not  be  bent  to  without  a  struggle. 

But  the  ice  being  once  broken,  the  Lord  Keeper  was  resolved 
it  should  not  have  time  again  to  freeze.  It  had  been  part  of 
his  plan  to  stun  and  confuse  Ravenwood's  ideas,  by  a  compli- 
cated and  technical  statement  of  the  matters  which  had  been 
in  debate  betwixt  their  families,  justly  thinking  that  it  would 
be  difficult  for  a  youth  of  his  age  to  follow  the  expositions  of  a 
practical  lawyer,  concerning  actions  of  compt  and  reckoning, 
and  of  multiplepoindings,  and  adjudications  and  wadsets,  proper 
and  improper,  and  poindings  of  the  ground,  and  declarations  or 
the  expiry  of  the  legal.  Thus,  thought  Sir  William,  I  shall 
have  all  the  grace  of  appearing  perfectly  communicative,  while 
my  party  will  derive  very  little  advantage  from  anything  I  may 
tell  him.  He  therefore  took  Ravenswood  aside  into  the  deep 
recess  of  a  window  in  the  hall,  and  resuming  the  discourse  of 
the  preceding  evening,  expressed  a  hope  that  his  young  friend 
would  assume  some  patience,  in  order  to  hear  him  enter  into  a 
minute  and  explanatory  detail  of  those  unfortunate  circum- 
stances in  which  his  late  honorable  father  had  stood  at  variance 
with  the  Lord  Keeper.  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  colored 
highly,  but  was  silent  ;  and  the  Lord  Keeper,  though  not 
greatly  approving  the  sudden  heightening  of  his  auditor's  com- 
plexion, commenced  the  history  of  a  bond  for  twenty  thousand 


THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


I^ 


marks,  advanced  by  his  father  to  the  father  of  Allan,  Lord 
Ravenswood,  and  was  proceeding  to  detail  the  executorial  pro- 
ceedings  by  which  this  large  sum  had  been  rendered  a  debitum 
fundi,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Master. 

"  It  is  not  in  this  place,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  hear  Sir  Wil- 
liam Ashton's  explanation  of  the  matters  in  question  between 
us.  It  is  not  here,  where  my  father  died  of  a  broken  heart, 
that  I  can  with  decency  or  temper  investigate  the  cause  of  his 
distress.  I  might  remember  that  I  was  a  son,  and  forget  the 
duties  of  a  host.  A  time,  however,  there  must  come,  when 
these  things  shall  be  discussed  in  a  place,  and  in  a  presence, 
where  both  of  us  will  have  equal  freedom  to  speak  and  to  hear." 

"  Any  time,"  the  Lord  Keeper  said,  "  any  place  was  alike  to 
those  who  sought  nothing  but  justice.  Yet  it  would  seem  he 
was,  in  fairness,  entitled  to  some  premonition  respecting  the 
grounds  upon  which  the  Master  proposed  to  impugn  the  whole 
train  of  legal  proceedings,  which  had  been  so  well  and  ripely 
advised  in  the  only  courts  competent." 

"  Sir  William  Ashton,"  answered  the  Master,  with  warmth, 
"  the  lands  which  you  now  occupy  were  granted  to  my  remote 
ancestors  for  services  done  with  his  sword  against  the  English 
invaders.  How  they  have  glided  from  us  by  a  train  of  pro- 
ceeding that  seem  to  be  neither  sale,  nor  mortgage,  nor  adju- 
dication for  debt,  but  a  nondescript  and  entangled  mixture  of 
all  these  rights — how  annual  rent  has  been  accumulated  upon 
principal,  and  no  nook  or  coign  of  legal  advantage  left  unoccu- 
pied, until  our  interest  in  our  hereditary  property  seems  to  have 
melted  away  like  an  icicle  in  thaw — all  this  you  understand 
better  than  I  do.  I  am  willing,  however,  to  suppose,  from  the 
frankness  of  your  conduct  toward  me,  that  I  may  in  a  great 
measure  have  mistaken  your  personal  character,  and  that  things 
may  have  appeared  right  and  fitting  to  you,  skillful  and 
practised  lawyer,  which  to  my  ignorant  understanding  seems 
very  little  short  of  injustice  and  gross  oppression." 

"And  you,  my  dear  Master,"  answered  Sir  William,  "you, 
permit  me  to  say,  have  been  equally  misrepresented  to  me.  I 
was  taught  to  believe  you  a  fierce,  imperious,  hot-headed  youth, 
ready,  at  the  slightest  provocation,  to  throw  your  sword  into 
the  scales  of  justice,  and  to  appeal  to  those  rude  and  forcible 
measures  from  which  civil  polity  has  long  protected  the  people 
of  Scotland.  Then,  since  we  were  mutually  mistaken  in  each 
other,  why  should  not  the  young  nobleman  be  willing  to  listen 
to  the  old  lawyer,  while,  at  least,  he  explains  the  points  of 
difference  betwixt  them  ? " 

"  No,  my  Lord/'  answered   Ravenswood  ;    "  it  is  in  tho 


124 


THE  BKIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


House  of  British  Peers,*  whose  honor  must  be  equal  to  theii 
rank — it  is  in  the  court  of  last  resort  that  we  must  parley 
together.  The  belted  lords  of  Britain,  her  ancient  peers,  must 
decide,  if  it  is  their  will  that  a  house,  not  the  least  noble  of 
their  members,  shall  be  stripped  of  their  possessions,  the  reward 
of  the  patriotism  of  generations,  as  the  pawn  of  a  wretched 
mechanic  becomes  forfeit  to  the  usurer  the  instant  the  hour  of 
redemption  has  passed  away.  If  they  yield  to  the  grasping 
severity  of  the  creditor,  and  to  the  gnawing  usury  that  eats 
into  our  lands  as  moths  into  a  raiment,  it  will  be  of  more 
evil  consequence  to  them  and  their  posterity  than  to  Edgar 
Ravenswood — I  shall  still  have  my  sword  and  my  cloak,  and 
can  follow  the  profession  of  arms  wherever  a  trumpet  shall 
sound." 

As  he  pronounced  these  words,  m  a  firm  yet  melancholy 
•tone,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  suddenly  encountered  those  of 
Lucy  Ashton,  who  had  stolen  unawares  on  their  interview,  and 
observed  her  looks  fastened  on  them  with  an  expression  of 
enthusiastic  interest  and  admiration,  which  had  wrapt  her  for 
a  moment  beyond  the  fear  of  discovery.  The  noble  form  and 
fine  features  of  Ravenswood,  fired  with  the  pride  of  birth  and 
sense  of  internal  dignity — the  mellow  and  expressive  tones  of 
his  voice,  the  desolate  state  of  his  fortunes,  and  the  indiflerence 
with  which  he  seemed  to  endure  and  to  dare  the  worst  that 
might  befall,  rendered  him  a  dangerous  object  of  contemplation 
for  a  maiden  already  too  much  disposed  to  dwell  upon  recollec- 
tions connected  with  him.  When  their  eyes  encountered  each 
other,  both  blushed  deeply,  conscious  of  some  strong  internal 
emotion,  and  shunned  again  to  meet  each  other's  looks. 

Sir  William  Ashton  had,  of  course,  closely  watched  the  ex- 
pression of  their  countenances.  "  I  need  fear,"  said  he  inter- 
nally, "  neither  parliament  nor  protestation  ;  I  have  an  effectual 
mode  of  reconciling  myself  with  this  hot-tempered  young  fellow, 
in  case  he  shall  become  formidable.  The  present  object  is,  at 
all  events,  to  avoid  committing  ourselves.  The  hook  is  fixed ; 
we  will  not  strain  the  line  too  soon — it  is  as  well  to  reserve  the 
privilege  of  slipping  it  loose,  if  wc  do  not  find  the  fish  worth 
landing." 

In  this  selfish  and  cruel  calculation  upon  the  supposed 
attachment  of  Ravenswood  to  Lucy,  he  was  so  far  from  con- 
sidering the  pain  he  might  give  to  the  former,  by  thus  dallying 
with  his  affections,  that  he  even  did  not  think  upon  the  risk  of 
involving  his  own  daughter  in  the  perils  of  an  unfortunate 
passion  ;  as  if  her  predilection,  which  could  not  escape  his  atteo" 

*  Note  G.     Appeal  to  Parliament. 


THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


125 


tion,  were  like  the  flame  of  a  taper,  which  might  be  lighted  or 
extinguished  at  pleasure.  But  Providence  had  prepared  a 
dreadful  requital  for  this  keen  observer  of  human  passions,  wlio 
had  spent  his  life  in  securing  advantages  to  himself  by  artfully 
working  upon  the  passions  of  others. 

Caleb  Balderston  now  came  to  announce  that  breakfast  was 
prepared ;  for,  in  those  days  of  substantial  feeding,  the  relics 
of  the  supper  amply  furnished  forth  the  morning  meal.  Neither 
did  he  forget  to  present  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  with  great  rever- 
ence, a  morning-draught  in  a  large  pewter  cup,  garnished 
with  leaves  of  parsley  and  scurvy-grass.  He  craved  pardon, 
of  course  for  having  omitted  to  serve  it  in  the  great  silver 
standing  cup  as  behoved,  being  that  it  was  at  present  in  a 
silversmith's  in  Edinburgh,  for  the  purpose  of  being  overlaid 
with  gilt." 

'•  In  Edinburgh  like  enough,"  said  Ravenswood ;  "  but  in 
what  place,  and  for  what  purpose,  I  am  afraid  neither  you  nor  I 
know." 

"  Aweel !  "  said  Caleb,  peevishly,  "  there's  a  man  standing 
at  the  gate  already  this  morning — that's  ae  thing  that  I  ken— ♦ 
Does  your  honor  ken  whether  ye  will  speak  wi'  him  or  no  ?  " 

"  Does  he  wish  to  speak  with  me,  Caleb  ?" 

"  Less  will  not  serve  him,"  said  Caleb  ;  "  but  ye  had  best 
take  a  visie  of  him  through  the  wicket  before  opening  the  gate 
— it's  no  every  ane  we  suld  let  into  this  castle." 

'*  What !  do  you  suppose  him  to  be  a  messenger  come  to 
arrest  me  for  debt  ? "  said  Ravenswood. 

"  A  messenger  arrest  your  honor  for  debt,  and  in  your  castle 
of  Wolf's  Crag  ! — your  honor  is  jesting  wi'  auld  Caleb  this 
morning,"  However,  he  whispered  in  his  ear  as  he  followed 
him  out,  "  I  would  be  loath  to  do  ony  decent  man  a  prejudice 
in  your  honor's  gude  opinion  ;  but  I  would  tak  twa  looks  o' 
that  chield  before  I  let  him  within  these  walls." 

He  was  not  an  officer  of  the  law  however  ;  being  no  less  a 
person  than  Captain  Craigengelt,  with  his  nose  as  red  as  a  com-\  or     ^ 
fortable  cup  of  brandy  could  make  it,  his  laced  cocked-hat  se(^ /}/'\ 
a  little  aside  upon  the  top  of  his  black  riding  periwig,  a  sword  by  |     ^f 
his  side,  and  pistols  at  his  holsters,  and  his  person  arrayed  in 
a  riding  suit,  laid  over  with  tarnished  lace, — the  very  moral  ol. 
one  who  would  say,  Stand,  to  a  true  man. 

When  the  Master  had  recognized  him,  he  ordered  the  gates 
to  be  opened.  "  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  Captain  Craigengelt, 
there  are  no  such  weighty  matters  betwixt  you  and  me,  but  may 
be  (JisK;ussed  in  this  place.      I  have  company  in  the  castle  at 


126  THE  BRIDK  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

present,  and  the  terms  upon  which  we  last  parted  must  excuse 
my  asking  you  to  make  part  of  them," 

Craigengelt,  although  possessing  the  very  perfection  of  impu- 
dence, was  somewhat  abashed  hy  this  unfavorable  reception. 
"  He  had  no  intention,"  he  said,  "  to  force  himself  upon  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood's  hospitality — he  was  in  the  honorable 
service  of  bearing  a  message  to  him  from  a  friend,  otherwise 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood  should  not  have  had  reason  to  com- 
plain of  this  intrusion." 

"  Let  it  be  short,  sir,"  said  the  Master,  "  for  that  will  be  the 
best  apology.  Who  is  the  gentleman  who  is  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  your  services  as  a  messenger  ?  " 

"  My  friend  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,"  answered  Craigengelt, 
with  conscious  importance,  and  that  confidence  which  the 
icknowledged  courage  of  his  principal  inspired,  "  who  conceives 
limself  to  have  been  treated  by  you  with  something  much  short 
of  the  respect  which  he  had  reason  to  demand,  and  thereforf 
is  resolved  to  exact  satisfaction.  I  bring  with  me,"  said  he 
taking  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket,  "  the  precise  length 
of  his  sword  ;  and  he  requests  you  will  meet  him,  accompanied 
by  a  friend,  and  equally  armed,  at  any  place  within  a  mile  of 
the  castle,  when  I  shall  give  attendence  as  umpire,  or  second, 
on  his  behoof." 

"  Satisfaction — and  equal  arms  !  "  repeated  Ravenswood, 
who,  the  reader  will  recollect,  had  no  reason  to  suppose  he  had 
given  the  slightest  offence  to  his  late  inmate — "  upon  my  word, 
Captain  Craigengelt,  either  j'ou  have  invented  the  most  im- 
probable falsehood  that  ever  came  into  the  mind  of  such  a 
person,  or  your  morning-draught  has  been  somewhat  of  the 
strongest.  What  could  persuade  Bucklaw  to  send  me  such  a 
message  ? " 

"  For  that  sir,"  replied  Craigengelt,  "  I  am  desired  to  refer 
you  to  what,  in  duty  to  my  friend,  I  am  to  term  your  inhos- 
pitality  in  excluding  him  from  your  house  without  reasons 
assigned." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  replied  the  Master  ;  "  he  cannot  be  such 
a  fool  as  to  interpret  actual  necessity  as  an  insult.  Nor  do  I 
believe,  that,  knowing  my  opinion  of  you,  Captain,  he  would 
have  employed  the  services  of  so  slight  and  inconsiderable  a 
person  as  yourself  upon  such  an  errand,  as  I  certainly  could 
expect  no  man  of  honor  to  act  with  you  in  the  office  of  umpire." 
"  I  slight  and  inconsiderable  !  "  said  Craigengelt,  raising 
his  voice,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  cutlass  ;  "  if  it  were  not 
that  the  quarrel  of  my  friend  craves  the  precedence,  and  is 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


127 


m  dependence  before  my  own,  I  would  give  you  to  under- 
stand " 

"  I  can  understand  nothing  upon  your  explanation,  Captain 
Craigengelt.  Be  satisfied  of  that,  and  obUge  me  with  your 
departure." 

"  D n  !  "  muttered  the  bully ;  "  and  is  this  the   answer 

which  I  am  to  carry  back  to  an  honorable  message  !  " 

"  Tell  the  Laird  of  Bucklaw,"  answered  Ravenswood,  "  if 
you  are  really  sent  by  him,  that  when  he  sends  me  his  cause  of 
grievance  by  a  person  fitting  to  carry  such  an  errand  betwixt 
him  and  n  e,  I  will  either  explain  it  or  maintain  it." 

"  Then,  Master,  you  will  at  least  cause  to  be  returned  to 
Ha3^ston,  by  my  hands,  his  property  which  is  remaining  in  your 
possession." 

"Whatever  property  Bucklaw  may  have  left  behind  him, 
sir,"  replied  the  Master,  "shall  be  returned  to  him  by  my 
servant,  as  you  do  not  show  me  any  credentials  from  him  which 
entitle  you  to  receive  it." 

"  Well,  Master,"  said  Captain  Craigengelt,  with  malice  wiiich 
even  his  fear  of  the  consequences  could  not  suppress, — "  you 
have  this  morning  done  me  an  egregious  wrong  and  dishonor, 
but  far  more  to  yourself.  A  castle,  indeed  !  "  he  continued, 
looking  around  him  ;  "  why,  this  is  worse  than  a  coupe-gorge 
house,  where  they  receive  travelers  to  plunder  them  of  their 
property." 

"  You  insolent  rascal,"  said  the  Master,  raising  his  cane, 
and  making  a  grasp  at  the  Captain's  bridle,  "  if  you  do  not 
depart  without  uttering  another  syllable,  I  will  batoon  you  to 
death." 

At  the  motion  of  the  Master  toward  him  the  bully  turned 
so  rapidly  round,  that  with  some  difficulty  he  escaped  throwing 
down  his  horse,  whose  hoofs  struck  fire  f  roni  the  rocky  pavement 
in  every  direction.  Recovering  him,  however,  with  the  bridle, 
he  pushed  for  the  gate,  and  rode  sharply  back  again  in  the 
direction  of  the  village. 

As  Ravenswood  turned  round  to  leave  the  courtyard  after 
this  dialogue  he  found  that  the  Lord  Keeper  had  descended  from 
the  hall,  and  witnessed,  though  at  the  distance  prescribed  by 
politeness,  his  interview  with  Craigengelt. 

"  I  have  seen,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  that  gentleman's 
face,  and  at  no  great  distance  of  time — his  name  is  Craig — 
Craig — something,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Craigengelt  is  the  fellow's  name,"  said  the  Master,  "  at 
kast  that  by  which  he  passes  at  present." 

"  Craig-in-guilt,"  said  Caleb,  punning  upon  the  word  crai([^ 


,28  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

which  in  Scotch  signifies  throat ;  "  if  he  is  Craig-in-guilt  just 
now,  he  is  as  Ukely  to  be  Craig-in-peril  as  ony  child  I  ever  saw 
— the  loon  has  woodie  written  on  his  very  visonomy,  and  I  wad 
wager  twa  and  a  plack  that  plaits  his  hemp  cravat  yet." 

"  You  understand  physiognomy,  good  Mr.  Caleb,"  said  the 
Keeper  smiling ;  "  I  assure  you  the  gentleman  has  been  near 
such  a  consummation  before  now — for  I  most  distinctly  recol- 
lect, that,  upon  occasion  of  a  journey  which  I  made  about  a 
fortnight  ago  to  Edinburgh,  I  saw  Mr.  Craigengelt,  or  what- 
ever is  his  name,  undergo  a  severe  examination  before  the 
Privy  Council." 

"  Upon  what  account  ?  "  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
with  some  interest. 

The  question  led  immediately  to  a  tale  which  the  Lord 
Keeper  had  been  very  anxious  to  introduce,  when  he  could  find 
a  graceful  and  fitting  opportunity.  He  took  hold  of  the  Mas- 
ter's arm,  and  led  him  back  toward  the  hall.  "  The  answer 
to  your  question,"  he  said,  "  though  it  is  a  ridiculous  business 
is  only  fit  for  your  own  ear." 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  he  again  took  the  Master  apart 
into  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  window,  where  it  will  be  easily 
believed  that  Miss  Ashton  did  not  venture  again  to  intrude 
upon  their  conference. 


CHAPTER   SIXTEENTH. 

Here  is  a  father  now, 

Will  truck  his  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 
Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker'd  feud, 
Or  fling  her  o'er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes, 
To  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Anonymous. 

The  Lord  Keeper  opened  his  discourse  with  an  appearance 
of  unconcern,  marking,  however,  very  carefully  the  efifect  of 
his  communication  upon  young  Ravenswood. 

"  You  are  aware  '  he  said,  "  my  young  friend,  that  suspicion 
is  the  natural  vice  of  our  unsettled  times,  and  exposes  the  best 
and  wisest  of  us  to  the  imposition  of  artful  rascals.  If  I  had 
been  disposed  to  listen  to  such  the  other  day,  or  even  if  I  had 
been  the  wily  politician  which  you  have  been  taught  to  believe 
me,  you.  Master  of  Ravenswood,  instead  of  being  at  freedom, 
and  with  full  liberty  to  solicit  and  act  against  me  as  you  please, 
in  defence  of  what  you  suppose  to  be  your  rights,  would  hav* 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  129 

been  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  or  some  other  state  prison; 
or,  if  you  had  escaped  that  destiny,  it  must  have  been  by  flight 
to  a  foreign  country,  and  at  the  risk  of  a  sentence  of  fugitation." 

"  My  Lord  Keeper,"  said  the  Master,  "  I  think  you  would 
not  jest  on  such  a  subject — yet  it  seems  impossible  you  can  be 
in  earnest." 

"  Innocence,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  is  also  confident, 
and  sometimes,  though  very  excusably,  presumptuously  so." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  how  a  con- 
sciousness of  innocence  can  be,  in  any  case,  accounted  pre- 
sumptuous." 

"  Imprudent,  at  least,  it  may  be  called,"  said  Sir  William 
Ashton,  "  since  it  is  apt  to  lead  us  into  the  mistake  of  supposing 
that  sufficiently  evident  to  others,  of  which,  in  fact,  we  are  only 
conscious  ourselves.  I  have  known  a  rogue,  for  this  very  reason 
make  a  better  defence  than  an  innocent  man  could  have  done 
in  the  same  circumstances  of  suspicion.  Having  no  conscious- 
ness of  innocence  to  support  him,  such  a  fellow  applies  himseli 
to  all  the  advantages  which  the  law  will  afford  him,  and  some- 
times  (if  his  counsel  be  men  of  talent)  succeeds  in  compelling 
his  judges  to  receive  him  as  innocent.  I  remember  the  cele- 
brated case  of  Sir  Coolie  Condiddle,  of  Condiddle,  who  waa 
tried  for  theft  under  trust,  of  which  all  the  world  knew  hir( 
guilty,  and  yet  was  not  only  acquitted,  but  lived  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment on  honester  folk. 

"  Allow  me  to  beg  you  will  return  to  the  point,"  said  the 
Master  ;  "  you  seemed  to  say  that  I  had  suffered  under  some 
suspicion." 

"  Suspicion,  Master ! — ay,  truly — and  I  can  show  you  the 
proofs  of  it ;  if  I  happen  only  to  have  them  with  me. — Here, 
Lockhard  " — His  attendant  came — "  Fetch  me  the  little  private 
mail  with  the  padlocks  that  I  recommended  to  your  particular 
charge — d'ye  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord."  Lockhard  vanished  ;  and  the  Keeper  con- 
tinued, as  if  half  speaking  to  himself. 

"  I  think  the  papers  are  with  me — I  think  so,  for  as  I  was 
to  be  in  this  country,  it  was  natural  for  me  to  bring  them  with 
me.  I  have  them,  however,  at  Ravenswood  Castle,  that  I  am 
sure  of — so  perhaps  you  might  condescend" 

Here  Lockhard  entered,  and  put  the  leathern  scrutoire,  or 
mail-box,  into  his  hands.  The  Keeper  produced  one  or  two 
papers,  respecting  the  information  laid  before  the  Privy  Council 
concerning  the  riot,  as  it  was  termed  at  the  funeral  of  Allan 
Lord  Ravenswood,  and  the  active  share  he  had  himself  taken 
in  quashing  the  proceedings  against  the  Master.  These  docu- 
/ 


^30 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


ments  had  been  selected  with  care,  so  as  to  irritate  the  natural 
curiosity  of  Ravenswood  upon  such  a  subject  without  gratifying 
it,  yet  to  show  that  Sir  William  Ashton  had  acted  upon  that 
trying  occasion  the  part  of  an  advocate  and  peace-maker  betwixt 
him  and  the  jealous  authorities  of  the  day.  Having  furnished 
his  host  with  such  subjects  for  examination,  the  Lord  Keepei 
went  to  the  breakfast  table,  and  entered  into  light  conversation, 
addressed  partly  to  old  Caleb,  whose  resentment  against  the 
usurper  of  the  Castle  of  Ravenswood  began  to  be  softened  by 
his  familiarity,  and  partly  to  his  daughter. 

After  perusing  these  papers,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
remained  for  a  minute  or  two  wiih  his  hand  pressed  against  his 
brow,  in  deep  and  profound  meditation.  He  then  again  ran  his 
eye  hastily  over  the  papers,  as  if  desirous  of  discovering  in  them 
some  deep  purpose,  or  some  mark  of  fabrication,  which  had 
escaped  him  at  first  perusal.  Apparently  the  second  reading 
confirmed  the  opinion  which  had  pressed  upon  him  at  the  first, 
for  he  started  from  the  stone  bench  on  which  he  was  sitting, 
and,  going  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  took  his  hand,  and,  strongly 
pressing  it,  asked  his  pardon  repeatedly  for  the  injustice  he  had 
done  him,  when  it  appeared  he  was  experiencing,  at  his  hands, 
the  benefit  of  protection  to  his  person,  and  vindication  to  his 
character. 

The  statesman  received  these  acknowledgments  at  first  with 
well-feigned  surprise,  and  then  with  an  affectation  of  frank 
cordiality.  The  tears  began  already  to  start  from  Lucy's  blue 
eves  at  viewing  this  unexpected  and  moving  scene.  To  see 
the  Master,  late  so  haughty  and  reserved,  and  whom  she  had 
always  supposed  the  injured  person  supplicating  her  father  for 
forgiveness,  was  a  change  at  once  surprising,  flattering,  and 
affecting. 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  Lucy,"  said  her  father;  "  why  should  you 
weep  because  your  father,  though  a  lawyer,  is  discovered  to  be 
a  fair  and  honorable  man  ?  What  have  you  to  thank  me  for, 
my  dear  Master,"  he  continued,  addressing  Ravenswood,  "  that 
you  would  not  have  done  in  my  case  ?  '  Suum  cuiqiie  tribuiio,^ 
was  the  Roman  justice,  and  I  learned  it  when  I  studied  Jus- 
tinian. Besides,  have  ye  not  overpaid  me  a  thousand  times, 
in  saving  the  life  of  this  dear  child  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Master,  in  all  the  remorse  of  self* 
accusation  ;  "  but  the  little  service  /  did  was  an  act  of  mere 
brutal  instinct  ;  ynur  defence  of  my  cause,  when  you  knew  ho\» 
ill  I  thought  of  you,  and  how  much  I  was  disposed  to  be  yout 
enemy,  was  an  act  of  generous,  manly,  and  considerate  wis 
dom." 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


131 


"  Pshaw  ! "  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  each  of  us  acted  in  his 
own  way  ;  you  as  a  gallant  soldier,  I  as  an  upright  judge  and 
privy-councillor.  We  could  not,  perhaps,  have  changed  parts — 
at  least  I  should  have  made  a  very  sorry  Tauridor,  and  you,  my 
good  Master,  though  your  cause  is  so  excellent,  might  have 
pleaded  it  perhaps  worse  yourself,  than  I  who  acted  for  you 
before  the  council." 

"  My  generous  friend  ! "  said  Ravenswood  ; — and  with  that 
brief  word,  which  the  Keeper  had  often  lavished  upon  him,  but 
which  he  himself  now  pronounced  for  the  first  time,  he  gave  to 
his  feudal  enemy  the  full  confidence  of  a  haughty  but  honorable 
heart.  The  Master  had  been  remarked  among  his  contem- 
poraries for  sense  and  acuteness,  as  well  as  for  his  reserved, 
pertinacious,  and  irascible  character.  His  prepossessions  ac- 
cordingly, however  obstinate,  were  of  a  nature  to  give  way 
before  love  and  gratitude  ;  and  the  real  charms  of  the  daughter, 
joined  to  the  supposed  services  of  the  father,  cancelled  in  his 
memory  the  vows  of  vengeance  which  he  had  taken  so  deeply  on 
the  eve  of  his  father's  funeral.  But  they  had  been  heard  and 
registered  in  the  book  of  fate. 

Caleb  was  present  at  this  extraordinary  scene,  and  he  could 
conceive  no  other  reason  for  a  proceeding  so  extraordinary  than 
an  alliance  betwixt  the  houses,  and  Ravenswood  Castle  assigned 
for  the  young  lady's  dowry.  As  for  Lucy,  when  Ravenswood 
uttered  the  most  passionate  excuses  for  his  ungrateful  negli- 
gence, she  could  but  smile  through  her  tears,  and,  as  she 
abandoned  her  hand  to  him,  assure  him,  in  broken  accents,  of 
the  delight  with  which  she  beheld  the  complete  reconciliation 
between  her  father  and  her  deliverer.  Even  the  statesman  was 
moved  and  affected  by  the  fiery,  unreserved,  and  generous  self- 
abandonment  with  which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  renounced 
his  feudal  enmity,  and  threw  himself  without  hesitation  upon  his 
forgiveness.  His  e}es  glistened  as  he  looked  upon  a  couple  who 
were  obviously  becoming  attached,  and  who  seemed  made  for 
each  other.  He  thought  how  high  the  proud  and  chivalrous 
character  of  Ravenswood  might  rise  under  many  circumstances, 


in  which  he  found  himself  "over-crowed,"  to  use  a  phrase  of  I  ii 
Spenser,  and  kept  under,  by  his  brief  pedigree,  and  timidity  of  A^r*  ^, 
msposirion.      Then   his  daughter — his  favorite  child — his  con- 


stant playmate — seemed  formed  to  live  hajopy  in  a  union  with 
such  a  commanding  spirit  as  Ravenswood;  and  even  the  fine, 
delicate,  fragile  form  of  Lucy  Ashton  seemed  to  require  the 
support  of  the  Master's  muscular  strength  and  masculine  char- 
acter. And  it  was  not  merely  during  a  few  minutes  that  Sir 
William  Ashton  looked  upon  their  marriage  as  a  probable  and 


132 


THE  BKJDE  OF  LA.VMERMOOR. 


even  desirable  event,  for  a  full  hour  intervened  ere  his  imagina- 
tion was  crossed  by  recollections  of  the  Master's  poverty,  and 
the  sure  displeasure  of  Lady  Ashton.  It  is  certain,  that  the 
very  unusual  flow  of  kindly  feeling  with  which  the  Lord  Keeper 
had  been  thus  surprised,  was  one  of  the  circumstances  which 
gave  much  tacit  encouragement  to  the  attachment  between  the 
Master  and  his  daughter,  and  led  both  the  lovers  distinctly  to 
believe  that  it  was  a  connection  which  would  be  most  agreeable 
to  him.  He  himself  was  supposed  to  have  admitted  this  in 
effect,  when,  long  after  the  catastrophe  of  their  love,  he  used  to 
warn  his  hearers  against  permitting  their  feelings  to  obtain  an 
ascendency  over  their  judgment,  and  aflfirm,  that  the  greatest 
misfortune  of  his  life  was  owing  to  a  very  temporary  predom- 
inance of  sensibility  over  self-interest.  It  must  be  owned,  if 
such  was  the  case,  he  was  long  and  severely  punished  for  an 
offence  of  very  brief  duration. 

After  some  pause,  the  Lord  Keeper  resumed  the  conver- 
sation.— "  In  your  surprise  at  finding  me  an  honester  man  than 
you  expected,  you  have  lost  your  curiosity  about  this  Craigen- 
gelt,  my  good  Master ;  and  yet  your  name  was  brought  in,  in 
the  course  of  that  matter,  too." 

"The  scoundrel  !  "  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  my  connection  with 
him  was  of  the  most  temporary  nature  possible  ;  and  yet  I  was 
very  foolish  to  hold  any  communication  with  him  at  all. — What 
did  he  say  of  me  ?" 

"  Enough,"  said  the  Keeper,  *•  to  excite  the  very  loyal  terrors 
of  some  of  our  sages,  who  are  for  proceeding  against  men  on 
the  mere  grounds  of  suspicion  or  mercenary  information. — 
Some  nonsense  about  your  proposing  to  enter  into  the  service 
of  France,  or  of  the  Pretender,   I  don't  recollect  which,    but 

which  the  Marquis  of  A ,    one  of  your  best  friends,   and 

another  person,  whom  some  call  one  of  your  worst  and  most 
interested  enemies,  could  not,  somehow,  be  brought  to  listen 
to." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  my  honorable  friend — and  yet " — shaking 
the  Lord  Keeper's  hand — "  and  yet  I  am  still  more  obliged  to 
my  honorable  enemy." 

'"'■  Inimicus  ainicissimus,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper  returning 
the  pressure  ;  "  but  this  gentleman — this  Mr.  Hayston  of 
Bucklaw — I  am  afraid  the  poor  young  man — I  heard  the  fellow 
mention  his  name — is  under  very  bad  guidance." 

"  He  is  old  enough  to  govern  himself,"  answered  the 
Master. 

"  Old  enough,  perhaps,  but  scarce  wise  enough,  if  he  has 
chosen  this  fellow  for  his  Jidus  Achates.     Why,  he  lodged  an 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  133 

information  against  him — that  is,  such  a  consequence  might 
have  ensued  from  his  examination,  had  we  not  looked  rather  at 
the  character  of  the  witness  than  the  tenor  of  his  evidence," 

"  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,"  said  the  Master,  "is,  I  believe, 
a  most  honorable  man,  and  capable  of  nothing  that  is  mean  or 
disgraceful." 

"  Capable  of  much  that  is  unreasonable,  though ;  that  you 
must  needs  allow.  Master.  Death  will  soon  put  him  in  pos 
session  of  a  fair  estate,  if  he  hath  it  not  already  ;  old  Lady 
Girnington — an  excellent  person,  excepting  that  her  inveterate 
ill-nature  rendered  her  intolerable  to  the  whole  world — is  prob- 
ably dead  by  this  time.  Six  heirs-portioners  have  successively 
died  to  make  her  wealthy.  I  know  the  estates  well ;  they 
march*  with  my  own — a  noble  property." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  and  should  be  more 
so,  were  I  confident  that  Bucklaw  would  change  his  company 
and  habits  with  his  fortunes.  This  appearance  of  Craigengelt, 
acting  in  the  capacity  of  his  friend,  is  a  most  vile  augury  for 
his  future  respectability." 

"He  is  a  bird  of  evil  omen,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Keeper, 
"  and  croaks  of  jails  and  gallows-tree. — But  I  see  Mr.  Caleb 
grows  impatient  for  our  return  to  breakfast." 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEENTH. 

Sir,  stay  at  home,  and  take  an  old  man's  counsel  ; 
Seek  not  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger's  hearth  ; 
Our  own  blue  smoke  is  warmer  than  their  fire  ; 
Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though  'tis  homely, 
And  foreign  dainties  poisonous,  though  tasteful. 

The  French  Courtezan. 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  took  an  opportunity  to  leave 
his  guests  to  prepare  for  their  departure,  while  he  himself 
made  the  brief  arrangements  necessary  previous  to  his  absence 
from  Wolf's  Crag  for  a  day  or  two.  It  was  necessary  to  com- 
municate with  Caleb  on  this  occasion,  and  he  found  that  faithful 
servitor  in  his  sooty  and  ruinous  den,  greatly  delighted  with 
the  departure  of  their  visitors,  and  computing  how  long,  with 
good  management,  the  provisions  which  had  been  unexpended 
might  furnish  forth  the  Master's  table.  "  He's  nae  belly  god, 
that's  ae  blessing  ;  and  Bucklaw's  gane,  that  could  have  eaten 
a  horse  behind  the  saddle.  Cresses  or  water-purpie,  and  a  bit 
ait-cake,  can  serve  the  Master  for  breakfast  as  weel  as  Caleb* 

*  i.e.     They  are  bounded  by  my  own. 


»i4 


THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


Then  for  dinner — there's  no  muckle  left  on  the  spule-bane  \  it 
will  brander,  though — it  will  brander*  very  well." 

His  triumphant  calculations  were  interrupted  by  the  Master, 
who  communicated  to  him,  not  without  some  hesitation,  hi'i 
purpose  to  ride  with  the  Lord  Keeper  as  far  as  Ravenswood 
Castle,  and  to  remain  there  for  a  day  or  two. 

"  The  mercy  of  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  the  old  serving-man, 
turning  as  pale  as  the  table-cloth  which  he  was  folding  up. 

"  And  why,  Caleb  }  "  said  his  master,  "  why  should  the 
mercy  of  Heaven  forbid  my  returning  the  Lord  Keeper's  visit  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,"  replied  Caleb — "  O  Mr.  Edgar  !  I  am  your  ser- 
vant, and  it  ill  becomes  me  to  speak — but  I  am  an  auld  servant 
— have  served  baith  your  father  and  gudesire,  and  mind  to  have 
seen  Lord  Randal,  your  great-grandfather — but  that  was  when 
I  was  a  bairn." 

"  And  what  of  all  this,  Balderston  said  the  Master  ;  what 
can  it  possibly  have  to  do  with  my  paying  some  ordinary  civility 
to  a  neighbor?  " 

"  O  Mr.  Edgar, — that  is,  my  lord  !  "  answered  the  butler, 
"your  ain  conscience  tells  you  itisna  foryour  father's  son  to  be 
neighboring  wi'  the  like  o'  him — it  isna  for  the  credit  of  the 
family.  An  he  were  ance  come  to  terms,  and  to  gie  ye  back 
your  ain,  e'en  though  ye  suld  honor  his  house  wi'  your  alli- 
ance, I  suldna  say  na-r7-,for  the  young  leddy  is  a  winsome  sweet 
creature^But  keep  your  ain  state  wi'  them — I  ken  the  race  o' 
them  weel — they  will  think  the  mair  o'  ye." 

"Why,  now,  you  go  further  than  I  do,  Caleb,"  said  the 
Master,  drowning  a  certain  degree  of  consciousness  in  a  forced 
laugh  ;  "  you  are  for  marrying  me  into  a  family  that  you  will 
not  allow  me  to  visit — how's  this — and  you  look  as  pale  as 
death  besides," 

"  O,  sir,"  repeated  Caleb  again,  "  you  would  but  laugh  if  I 
lauld  it  ;  but  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  whose  tongue  couldna  be 
fause,  spoke  the  word  of  your  house  that  will  e'en  prove  ower 
true  if  you  go  to  Ravenswood  this  day — O,  that  it  should  e'er 
have  been  fulfilled  in  my  time  !  " 

"  And  what  is  it,  Caleb  ? "  said  Ravenswood,  wishing  to 
soothe  the  fears  of  his  old  servant. 

Caleb  replied,  "  he  had  never  repeated  the  lines  to  living 
mortal — they  were  told  to  him  by  an  auld  priest  that  had  been 
confessor  to  Lord  Allan's  father  when  the  family  were  Catholic. 
But  mony  a  time,' '  he  said,  "  I  hae  soughed  thae  dark  words 
ower  to  mysell,  and,  well-a-day  !  little  did  I  think  of  their 
coming  round  this  day." 

»  Broil. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  13^ 

"  Truce  with  your  nonsense,  and  let  me  hear  the  doggerel 
which  has  put  it  into  your  head,"  said  the  Master  impatiently. 

With  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with  apprehension, 
Caleb  faltered  out  the  following  lines  : —  y  ^^^\_M^ 

"  When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood  shall  ride, 
And  woo  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride, 

He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  Kelpie's  flow,  I 

And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe  !  "  / 

"  I  know  the  Kelpie's  flow  well  enough,"  said  the  Master  ; 
"  I  suppose,  at  least,  you  mean  the  quicksand  betwixt  this 
tower  and  Wolf's  Hope ;  but  why  any  man  in  his  senses  should 
stable  a  steed  there  " 

"  O,  never  speer  ony  thing  about  that,  sir — God  forbid  we 
should  ken  what  the  prophecy  means — but  just  bide  you  at 
hame,  and  let  the  strangers  ride  to  Ravenswood  by  themselves. 
We  have  done  eneugh  for  them  ;  and  to  do  mair,  would  be  mair 
against  the  credit  of  the  family  than  in  its  favor." 

"Well,  Caleb,"  said  the  Master,  "I  give  you  the  best 
possible  credit  for  your  good  advice  on  this  occasion  ,  but  as 
I  do  not  go  to  Ravenswood  to  seek  a  bride,  dead  or  alive,  I 
hope  I  shall  choose  a  better  stable  for  my  horse  than  the 
Kelpie's  quicksand,  and  especially  as  I  have  always  had  a 
particular  dread  of  it  since  the  patrol  of  dragoons  were  lost 
there  ten  years  since.  My  father  and  1  saw  them  from  the 
tower  struggling  against  the  advancing  tide,  and  they  were 
lost  long  before  any  help  could  reach  them." 

"  And  they  deserved  it  weel,  the  southern  loons  !  "  said 
Caleb ;  "  what  had  they  ado  capering  on  our  sands,  and  hin- 
dering a  wheen  honest  folk  frae  bringing  on  shore  a  drap 
brandy  ?  I  hae  seen  them  that  busy,  that  I  wad  hae  fired  the 
auld  culverin,  or  the  demisaker  that's  on  the  south  bartisan 
at  them,  only  I  was  feared  they  might  burst  in  the  ganging  aff." 

Caleb's  brain  was  now  fully  engaged  with  abuse  of  the 
English  soldiery  and  excisemen,  so  that  his  master  found  no 
great  difficulty  in  escaping  from  him  and  rejoining  his  guests. 
All  was  now  ready  for  their  departure  ;  and  one  of  the  Lord 
Keeper's  grooms  having  saddled  the  Master's  steed,  they 
mounted  in  the  courtyard. 

Caleb  had,  with  much  toil,  opened  the  double  doors  of  the 
outward  gate,  and  thereat  stationed  himself,  endeavoring,  by 
the  reverential,  and,  at  the  same  time,  consequential  air  which 
he  assumed,  to  supply  by  his  own  gaunt,  wasted,  and  thin 
person,  the  absence  of  a  whole  baronial  establishment  of  por- 
ters, warders,  and  liveried  menials. 


.vV 


c/ 


136  THE  BR/DE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

The  Keeper  returned  his  deep  reverence  with  a  cordial 
farewell,  stooping  at  the  same  time  from  his  horse,  and  sliding 
into  the  butler's  hand  the  remuneration  which  in  those  days 
was  always  given  by  a  departing  guest  to  the  domestics  of  the 
family  where  he  had  been  entertained,  Lucy  smiled  on  the 
old  man  with  her  usual  sweetness,  bade  him  adieu,  and  de- 
posited her  guerdon  with  a  grace  of  action  and  a  gentleness  of 
accent,  which  could  not  have  failed  to  have  won  the  faithful 
retainer's  heart,  but  for  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  the  success- 
ful lawsuit  against  his  master.  As  it  was,  he  might  have  adop 
ted  the  language  of  the  Duke,  in  As  you  Like  it — 

"  Thou  wouldst  have  better  pleased  me  with  this  deed, 
If  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father." 

Ravenswood  was  at  the  lady's  bridle-rein,  encouraging  hei 
timidity,  and  guiding  her  horse  carefully  down  the  rocky  path 
which  led  to  the  moor,  when  one  of  the  servants  announced 
from  the  rear,  that  Caleb  was  calling  loudly  after  them,  desir- 
ing to  speak  with  his  master.  Ravenswood  felt  it  would  look 
singular  to  neglect  this  summons,  although  inwardly  cursing 
Caleb  for  his  impertinent  ofificiousness  ;  therefore  he  was  com- 
pelled to  relinquish  to  Mr.  Lockhard  the  agreeable  duty  in 
which  he  was  engaged,  and  to  ride  back  to  the  gate  of  the 
courtyard.  Here  he  was  beginning,  somewhat  peevishly,  to 
ask  Caleb  the  cause  of  his  clamor,  when  the  good  old  man 
exclaimed,  "  Whisht,  sir  !  whisht,  and  let  me  speak  just  ae  word 
that  I  couldna  say  afore  folk — there" — (putting  into  his  lord's 
hand  the  money  he  had  just  received) — "  there's  three  gowd 
pieces — and  ye'll  want  siller  up  by  yonder — But  stay,  whisht 
now !  "  for  the  Master  was  beginning  to  exclaim  against  this 
transference — "  never  say  a  word,  but  just  see  to  get  them 
changed  in  the  first  town  ye  ride  through,  for  they  are  bran 
new  frae  the  mint,  and  kenspeckle  a  wee  bit." 

"  You  forget,  Caleb,"  said  his  master,  striving  to  force  back 
the  money  on  his  servant,  and  extricate  the  bridle  from  his 
hold — "  You  forget  that  I  have  some  gold  pieces  left  of  my  own. 
Keep  these  to  yourself,  my  old  friend  ;  and  once  more,  good 
day  to  you.  I  assure  you  I  have  plenty.  You  know  you 
have  managed  that  our  living  should  cost  us  little  or  nothing," 

"  Aweel, "  said  Caleb,  "  these  will  serve  for  you  anothei 
time  ;  but  see  ye  hae  enough,  for,  doubtless,  for  the  credit  of 
the  family,  there  maun  be  some  civility  to  the  servants,  and 
ye  maun  hae  something  to  mak  a  show  with  when  they  say, 
Master,  will  you  bet  a  broad  piece  ?  Then  ye  maun  tak  out 
your  purse,  and  say,  I  carena  if  I  do  ;  and  tak  care  no  to  agre(9 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


»37 


on  the  articles  of  the  wager,  and  just  put  up  your  purse  again, 
and"— 

"  This  is  intolerable,  Caleb — I  really  must  be  gone." 

"  And  you  will  go,  then  ?  "  said  Caleb,  loosening  his  hold 
upon  the  Master's  cloak,  and  changing  his  didactics  into  a  pathe- 
tic and  mournful  tone — "  And  you  ivill  go,  for  a'  1  have  told 
you  about  the  prophecy,  and  the  dead  bride,  and  the  Kelpie's 
quicksand  ? — Aweel !  a  wilful  man  maun  hae  his  way — he  that 
will  to  Cupar  maun  to  Cupar.  But  pity  of  your  life,  sir,  if  ye 
be  fowling  or  shooting  in  the  park — beware  of  drinking  at  the 
Mermaiden''-  Well He's  gane  !  he's  down  the  path,  arrow- 
flight  after  her  ! — The  head  is  as  clean  ta'en  aff  the  Ravenswood 
family  this  day,  as  I  wad  chap  the  head  aff  a  sybo  \ " 

The  old  butler  looked  long  after  his  master,  often  clearing 
away  the  dew  as  it  rose  to  his  eyes,  that  he  might,  as  long  as 
possible,  distinguish  his  stately  form  from  those  of  the  other 
horsemen.  "  Close  to  her  bridle-rein — ay,  close  to  her  bridle- 
rein  ! — Wisely  saith  the  holy  man,  '  By  this  also  you  may  know 
that^ woman  hath  dominion  over  all  men  ^ ' — and  without  this 
lass  would  not  our  ruin  have  been  a'thegither  fulfilled." 

With  a  heart  fraught  with  such  sad  auguries  did  Caleb  return 
to  his  necessary  duties  at  Wolf's  Crag,  as  soon  as  he  could  nr 
longer  distinguish  the  object  of  his  anxiety  among  the  group  of 
riders,  which  diminished  in  the  distance. 

In  the  meantime  the  party  pursued  their  route  joyfully. 
Having  once  taken  his  resolution,  the  iVIaster  of  Ravenswood 
was  not  of  a  character  to  hesitate  or  pause  upon  it.  He  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  Miss  Ashton's  company, 
and  displayed  an  assiduous  gallantry,  which  approached  as 
nearly  to  gayety  as  the  temper  of  his  mind  and  state  of  his 
family  permitted.  The  Lord  Keeper  was  much  struck  with  his 
depth  of  observation,  and  the  unusual  improvement  which  he 
had  derived  from  his  studies.  Of  these  accomplishments  Sir 
W'Uiam  Ashton's  profession  and  habits  of  society  rendered  him 
an  excellent  judge  -.  and  he  well  knew  how  to  api  reciate  a 
quality  to  which  he  himself  was  a  total  stranger, — the  brief  and 
decided  dauntlessness  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood's  disposi- 
tion, whf  seemed  equally  a  stranger  to  doubt  and  to  fear.  In  his 
heart  the  Lorr"  Keeper  rejoiced  at  having  conciliated  an  adver- 
sary so  formidable,  while,  with  a  mixture  of  pleasure  and 
anxiety,  he  anticipated  the  great  things  his  young  companion 
might  achieve,  were  the  breath  of  court  favor  to  fill  his  sails. 

"What  could  she  desire?"  he  thought,  his  mind  always 
conjuring  up  opposition  in  the  person  of  Lady  Ashton  to  his 
uow  prevailing  wish — "  What  could  a  woman  desire  in  a  match, 


138  THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

more  than  the  sopiting  of  a  very  dangerous  claim,  and  the 
alliance  of  a  son-in-law,  noble,  brave,  well-gifted,  and  highly 
connected — sure  to  tioat  whenever  the  tide  sets  his  way — 
strong,  exactly  where  we  are  weak,  in  pedigree,  and  in  the 
temper  of  a  swordman  ? — Sure  no  reasonable  woman  would 
hesitate, — But,  alas  !  " — Here  his  argument  was  stopped  by  the 
consciousness  that  Lady  Ashton  was  not  always  reasonable,  in 
his  sense  of  the  word,  "  To  prefer  some  clownish  Merse  laird  to 
the  gallant  young  nobleman,  and  to  the  secure  possession  of 
Ravenswood  upon  terms  of  easy  compromise — it  would  be  the 
act  of  a  madwoman  !  " 

Thus  pondered  the  veteran  politician,  until  they  reached 
Bittlebrains'  House,  where  it  had  been  previously  settled  they 
were  to  dine  and  repose  themselves,  and  prosecute  their  journey 
in  the  afternoon. 

They  were  received  with  an  excess  of  hospitality  ;  and  the 
most  marked  attention  was  offered  to  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood,  in  particular,  by  their  noble  entertainers.  The  truth  was, 
that  Lord  Bittlebrains  had  obtained  his  peerage  by  a  good  deal 
of  plausibility,  an  art  of  building  up  a  character  for  wisdom  upon 
a  very  trite  style  of  commonplace  eloquence,  a  steady  observa- 
tion of  the  changes  of  the  times,  and  the  power  of  rendering 
certain  political  services  to  those  who  could  best  reward  them. 
His  lady  and  he  not  feeling  quite  easy  under  their  new  honors, 
to  which  use  had  not  adopted  their  feelings,  were  very  desirous 
to  procure  the  fraternal  countenance  of  those  who  were  born 
denizens  of  the  regions  into  which  they  had  been  exalted  from 
a  lower  sphere.  The  extreme  attention  which  they  paid  to  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  had  its  usual  effect  in  exalting  his  im- 
portance in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  who,  although  he  had 
a  reasonable  degree  of  contempt  for  Lord  Bittlebrains'  general 
parts,  entertained  a  high  opinion  of  the  acuteness  of  his  judg- 
ment in  all  matters  of  self-interest. 

"  I  wish  Lady  Ashton  had  seen  this,"  was  his  internal  reflec- 
tion ;  "  no  man  knows  so  well  as  Bittlebrains  on  which  side  his 
bread  is  buttered  ;  and  he  fawns  on  the  Master  like  a  beggar's 
messan  on  a  cook.  And  my  lady,  too,  bringing  forward  her 
beetle-browed  misses  to  skirl  and  play  upon  the  virginals,  as  if 
she  said,  pick  and  choose.  They  are  no  more  comparable  to 
Lucy  than  an  owl  ii  to  a  cygnet,  and  so  they  may  carry  their 
black  brows  to  a  further  market." 

The  entertainment  being  ended,  our  travelers,  who  had  still 
to  measure  the  longest  part  of  their  journey,  resumed  their 
horses ;  and  after  the  Lord  Keeper,  the  Master,  and  the  dom- 
estics, had  drunk  doch-an-dorroch,  cr  the   stirrup-cup,   in   the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


139 


liquors  adopted  to  their  various  ranks,  the  cavalcade  resumed 
its  progress. 

It  was  dark  by  the  time  they  entered  the  avenue  of  Ravens- 
wood  Castle,  a  long  straight  line  leading  directly  to  the  front 
of  the  house,  flanked  with  huge  elm-trees,  which  sighed  to  the 
night  wind,  as  if  they  compassionated  the  heir  of  their  ancient 
proprietors,  who  now  returned  to  their  shades  in  the  societ}', 
and  almost  in  the  retinue,  of  their  new  master.  Some  feelings  j 
of  the  same  kind  oppressed  the  mind  of  the  Master  himself. 
He  gradually  became  silent,  and  dropped  a  little  behind  the 
lady,  at  whose  bridle-rein  he  had  hitherto  waited  with  such 
devotion.  He  well  recollected  the  period,  when,  at  the  same 
hour  in  the  evening,  he  had  accompanied  his  father,  as  that 
nobleman  left,  never  again  to  return  to  it,  the  mansion  from 
which  he  derived  his  name  and  title.  The  extensive  front  of 
the  old  castle,  on  which  he  remembered  having  often  looked 
back,  was  then  "  as  black  as  mourning  weed."  The  same  front 
now  glanced  with  many  lights,  some  throwing  far  forward  into 
the  night  a  fixed  and  stationary  blaze,  and  others  hurrying 
from  one  window  to  another,  intimating  tke  bustle  and  busy 
preparations  preceding  their  arrival,  which  had  been  intimated 
by  an  avant-courier.  The  contrast  pressed  so  strongly  upon 
the  Master's  heart,  as  to  awaken  some  of  the  sterner  feelings 
with  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  the  new  lord  of 
his  paternal  domain,  and  to  impress  his  countenance  with  an 
air  of  severe  gravity,  when,  alighted  from  his  horse,  he  stood 
in  the  hall,  no  longer  his  own,  surrounded  by  the  numerous 
menials  of  its  present  owner. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  when  about  to  welcome  him  with  the 
cordiality  which  their  late  intercourse  seemed  to  render  proper, 
became  aware  of  the  change,  refrained  from  his  purpose,  and 
only  intimated  the  ceremony  of  reception  by  a  deep  reverence 
to  his  guest,  seeming  thus  delicately  to  share  the  feelings  which 
predominated  on  his  brow. 

Two  upper  domestics,  bearing  each  a  huge  pair  of  silver 
candlesticks,  now  marshaled  the  company  into  a  large  saloon, 
or  withdrawing  room,  where  new  alterations  impressed  upon 
Ravenswood  the  superior  wealth  of  the  present  inhabitants  of 
the  castle.  The  mouldering  tapestry,  which,  in  his  father's 
time,  had  half-covered  the  walls  of  this  stately  apartment,  and 
half  streamed  from  them  in  tatters,  had  given  place  to  a  com- 
plete finishing  of  wainscot,  the  cornice  of  which,  as  well  as  the 
frames  of  the  various  compartments,  were  ornamented  with 
festoons  of  flowers  and  with  birds,  which,  though  carved  in 
oak,  seemed,  such  was  the  art  of  the  chisel,  actually  to  swell 


14©  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

their  throats  and  flutter  their  wings.  Several  old  family  por- 
traits of  armed  heros  of  the  House  of  Ravenswood,  together 
with  a  suit  or  two  of  old  armor,  and  some  military  weapons, 
had  given  place  to  those  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary,  of 
Sir  Thomas  Hope  and  Lord  Stair,  two  distinguished  Scottish 
lawyers.  The  pictures  of  the  Lord  Keeper's  father  and  mother 
were  also  to  be  seen ;  the  latter,  sour,  shrewish,  and  solemn,  in 
her  black  hood  and  close  pinners,  with  a  book  of  devotion  in 
her  hand  ;  the  former,  exhibiting  beneath  a  black  silk  Geneva 
cowl,  or  skull-cap,  which  sat  as  close  to  the  head  as  if  it  had 
been  shaven,  a  pinched,  peevish,  puritanical  set  of  features, 
terminating  in  a  hungry,  reddish,  peaked  beard,  forming  on 
the  whole  a  countenance  in  the  expression  of  which  the  hypo- 
crite seemed  to  centend  with  the  miser  and  the  knave.  And 
it  is  to  make  room  for  such  scarecrows  as  these,  thought 
Ravenswood,  that  my  ancestors  have  been  torn  down  from  the 
walls  which  they  erected.  He  looked  at  them  again,  an-d,  as 
he  looked,  the  recollection  of  Lucy  Ashton  (for  she  had  not 
entered  the  apartment  with  them)  seemed  less  lively  in  his 
imagination.  There  were  also  two  or  three  Dutch  drolleries, 
as  the  pictures  of  Ostade  and  Teniers  were  then  termed,  with 
one  good  painting  of  the  Italian  school.  There  was,  besides,  a 
noble  full-length  of  the  Lord  Keeper  in  his  robes  of  office, 
placed  beside  his  lady  in  silk  and  ermine — a  haughty  beauty, 
bearing  in  her  looks  all  the  pride  of  the  House  of  Douglas, 
from  which  she  was  descended.  The  painter,  notwithstanding 
his  skill,  overcome  by  the  reality,  or,  perhaps,  from  a  sup- 
pressed sense  of  humor,  had  not  been  able  to  give  the  husband 
on  the  canvas  that  air  of  awful  rule  and  right  supremacy,  which 
indicates  the  full  possession  of  domestic  authority.  It  was 
obvious,  at  the  first  glance,  that,  despite  mace  and  gold  frogs, 
the  Lord  Keeper  was  somewhat  henpecked.  The  floor  of  this 
fine  saloon  was  laid  with  rich  carpets,  huge  fires  blazed  in  the 
double  chimneys,  and  ten  silver  sconces,  reflecting  with  theii 
bright  plates  the  lights  which  they  supported,  made  the  whole 
seem  as  brilliant  as  day. 

"  Would  you  choose  any  refreshment.  Master  ?  "  said  Sir 
William  Ashton,  not  unwilling  to  break  the  awkward  silence. 

He  received  no  answer,  the  Master  being  so  busily  engaged 
in  marking  the  various  changes  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
apartment,  that  he  hardly  heard  the  Lord  Keeper  address  him. 
A  repetition  of  the  offer  of  refreshment,  with  the  addition,  that 
the  family  meal  would  be  presently  ready,  compelled  his  atten- 
tion, and  reminded  him  that  he  acted  a  weak,  perhaps  even  a 
ridiculous  part,  in  suffering  himself  to  be  overcome  by  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMEkMOOR. 


141 


circumstances  in  which  he  found  himself.  He  compelled  him- 
self, therefore,  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Sir  William 
Ashton,  with  as  much  appearance  of  indifference  as  he  could 
well  command. 

"  You  will  not  be  surprised,  Sir  William,  that  I  am  interested 
in  the  changes  you  have  made  for  the  better  in  this  apartment. 
In  my  father's  time,  after  our  misfortunes  compelled  him  to 
live  in  retirement,  it  was  little  used,  except  by  me  as  a  play- 
room, when  the  weather  would  not  permit  me  to  go  abroad. 
In  that  recess  was  my  little  workshop,  where  I  treasured  the 
few  carpenter's  tools  which  old  Caleb  procured  for  me,  and 
taught  me  how  to  use — there,  in  yonder  corner,  under  that 
handsome  silver  sconce,  I  kept  my  fishing-rods,  and  hunting 
poles,  bows,  and  arrows." 

"  I  have  a  young  birkie,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  willing  to 
change  the  tone  of  the  conversation,  "  of  much  the  same  turn — 
He  is  never  happy,  save  when  he  is  in  the  field — I  wonder  he 
is  not  here. — Here,  Lockhard — send  William  Shaw  for  Mr. 
Henry — I  suppose  he  is,  as  usual,  tied  to  Lucy's  apron-string — 
that  foolish  girl,  Master,  draws  the  whole  family  after  her  at 
her  pleasure." 

Even  this  allusion  to  his  daughter,  though  artfully  thrown 
out,  did  not  recall  Ravenswood  from  his  own  topic. 

"  We  were  obliged  to  leave,"  he  said,  "  some  armor  and 
portraits  in  this  apartment — may  I  ask  where  they  have  been 
removed  to  .-' " 

"  Why  "  answered  the  Keeper,  with  some  hesitation,  "  the 
room  was  fitted  up  in  our  absence — and  cedant  anna  togce,  is 
the  maxim  of  lawyers,  you  know — I  am  afraid  it  has  been  here 
somewhat  too  literally  complied  with.  I  hope — I  believe  they 
are  safe — I  am  sure  I  gave  orders — may  I  hope  that  when  they 
are  recovered,  and  put  in  proper  order,  you  will  do  me  the 
honor  to  accept  them  at  my  hand,  as  an  atonement  for  their 
accidental  derangement?" 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  bowed  stiffly,  and,  with  folded 
irms,  again  resumed  his  survey  of  the  room. 

Henry,  a  spoilt  boy  of  fifteen,  burst  into  the  room,  and  ran 
up  to  his  father.  "  Think  of  Lucy,  papa  ;  she  has  come  home 
»o  cross  and  so  fractious,  that  she  will  not  go  down  to  the  stable 
to  see  my  new  pony,  that  Bob  Wilson  brought  from  the  Mull 
of  Galloway." 

"  I  think  you  were  very  unreasonable  to  ask  her,"  said  the 
Keeper. 

"  Then  you  are  as  cross  as  she  is,"  answered  the  boy ; 


142  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"but  when  mamma  comes  home,  she'll  claw  up  both  your 
mittens." 

"  Hush  your  impertinence,  you  little  forward  imp  !  "  said 
his  father  ;  "  where  is  your  tutor  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  a  wedding  in  Dunbar — I  hope  he'll  get  a  haggis  to 
his  dinner ;  "  and  he  began  to  sing  the  old  Scottish  song, 

"  There  was  a  haggis  in  Dunbar, 

Fal  de  ral,  etc. 
Mony  better  and  few  waur, 

Fal  de  ral,  etc." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Cordery  for  his  attentions," 
said  the  Lord  Keeper  ;  "  and  pray  who  has  had  the  charge  of 
you  while  I  was  away,  Mr.  Henry.?" 

"  Norman  and  Bob  Wilson — forby  my  own  self." 

"  A  groom  and  a  gamekeeper,  and  your  own  silly  self — 
proper  guardians  for  a  young  advocate  ! — Why,  you  will  never 
know  any  statutes  but  those  against  shooting  red-deer,  killing 
salmon,  and — " 

"And  speaking  of  red-game,"  said  the  young  scapegrace, 
interrupting  his  father  without  scruple  or  hesitation,  "  Norman 
has  shot  a  buck,  and  I  showed  the  branches  to  Lucy,  and  she 
says  they  have  but  eight  tynes  ;  and  she  says  that  you  killed  a 
deer  with  Lord  Bittlebrains'  hounds,  when  you  were  west  away, 
and,  do  you  know,  she  says  it  had  ten  tynes — is  it  true  ?  " 

"  It  may  have  had  twenty,  Henry,  for  what  I  know  ■  but  if 
you  go  to  that  gentleman,  he  can  tell  you  all  about  it — Go 
speak  to  him,  Henry — it  is  the  Master  of  Ravenswood." 

While  they  conversed  thus,  the  father  and  son  were  stand- 
ing by  the  fire  ;  and  the  Master,  having  walked  toward  the 
upper  end  of  the  apartment  stood  with  his  back  toward  them, 
apparently  engaged  in  examining  one  of  the  paintings.  The 
boy  ran  up  to  him,  and  pulled  him  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat 
with  the  freedom  of  a  spoilt   child,  saying,  "I   say,  sir — if  you 

please  to  tell  me  "  but  when  the  Master  turned  round,  and 

Henry  saw  his  face,  he  became  suddenly  and  totally  discon- 
certed— walked  two  or  three  steps  backward,  and  still  gazed 
on  Ravenswood  with  an  air  of  fear  and  wonder,  which  had  to- 
tally banished  from  his  features  their  usual  expression  of  perl 
vivacity. 

"  Come  to  me,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  Master,  "  and 
I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  hunt.'' 

"Goto  the  gentleman,  Henry,"  said  his  father ;  "  you  are 
not  used  to  be  so  shy." 

But  neither  invitation  nor  exhortation  had  any  effect  on  the 


'"^  =        '^'-^    THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMM ERMOOR.  1 43 

boy.  On  the  contrary,  he  turned  round  as  soon  as  he  had  com- 
pleted his  survey  of  the  Master,  and,  walking  as  cautiously  as 
if  he  had  been  treading  upon  eggs,  he  glided  back  to  his  father, 
and  pressed  as  close  to  him  as  possible.  Ravenswood,  to  avoid 
hearing  the  dispute  betwixt  the  father  and  the  over-indulged 
boy,  thought  it  most  polite  to  turn  his  face  once  more  toward 
the  pictures,  and  pay  no  attention  to  what  they  said. 

"  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  the  Master,  you  little  fool  ? " 
said  the  Lord  Keeper. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Henry,  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice. 

"  Afraid,  you  goose  !  "  said  his  father,  giving  him  a  slight 
shake  by  the  collar — "  What  makes  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  What  makes  him  so  like  the  picture  of  Sir  Malise  Ravens- 
wood,  then  ?  "  said  the  boy,  whispering. 

"  What  picture,  you  natural  ?  "  said  his  father.  "  I  used  to 
think  you  only  a  scapegrace,  but  I  believe  vou  will  turn  out  a 
born  idiot." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  the  picture  of  old  Malise  of  Ravenswood, 
and  he  is  as  like  it  as  if  he  had  loupen  out  of  the  canvas  ;  and 
it  is  up  in  the  old  Baron's  hall  that  the  maids  launder  the 
clothes  in,  and  it  has  armor,  and  not  a  coat  like  the  gentleman 
— and  he  has  not  a  beard  and  whiskers  like  the  picture — and 
it  has  another  kind  of  thing  about  the  throat,  and  no  band- 
strings  as  he  has — and  " — 

"  And  why  should  not  the  gentleman  be  like  his  ancestor, 
you  silly  boy  ?  "  said  the  Lord  Keeper. 

"  Ay  ;  but  if  he  is  come  to  chase  us  all  out  of  the  castle," 
said  the  boy,  "  and  has  twenty  men  at  his  back  in  disguise — 
and  is  come  to  say,  with  a  hollow  voice,  /  bide  my  time — and  is 
to  kill  you  on  the  hearth  as  Malise  did  the  other  man,  and 
whose  blood  is  still  to  be  seen  !  " 

"  Hush  !  nonsense  !  "  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  not  himself 
much  pleased  to  hear  these  disagreeable  coincidences  forced 
on  his  notice. — "  Master,  here  comes  Lockhard  to  say  supper 
is  served." 

And,  at  the  same  instant,  Lucy  entered  at  another  door, 
having  changed  her  dress  since  her  return.  The  exquisite 
feminine  beauty  of  her  countenance,  now  shaded  only  by  a 
profusion  of  sunny  tresses  ;  the  sylph-like  form  disencumbered 
of  her  heavy  riding-skirt,  and  mantled  in  azure  silk  ;  the  grace 
of  her  manner  and  of  her  smile,  cleared,  with  a  celerity  which 
surprised  the  Master  himself,  all  the  gloomy  and  unfavorable 
thoughts  which  had  for  some  time  overclouded  his  fancy.  In 
those  features,  so  simply  sweet,  he  could  trace  no  alliance  with  • 
the  pinched  visage  of  the  peak-bearded,  black-capped  Puritan, 


144 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


or  his  starch  withered  spouse,  with  the  craft  expressed  in  the 
Lord  Keepei's  countenance,  or  the  haughtiness  which  predom- 
inated in  that  of  his  lady  ;  and,  while  he  gazed  on  Lucy  Ash- 
ton,  she  seemed  to  be  an  angel  descended  on  earth,  unallied 
to  the  coarser  mortals  among  whom  she  deigned  to  dwell  for  a 
season.  Such  is  the  power  of  beauty  over  a  youthful  and  en- , 
thusiastic  fancy. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEENTH. 


-I  do  too  ill  in  this, 


And  must  not  think  but  that  a  parent's  plaint 
Will  move  the  heavens  to  pour  forth  misery 
Upon  the  head  of  disobediency, 
Yet  reason  tells  us,  parents  arc  o'erseen, 
When  with  too  strict  a  rein  they  do  hold  in 
Their  child's  affections,  and  control  that  love 
Which  the  high  powers  divine  inspire  them  with. 

The  Hog  hath  lost  his  Pearl. 

The  feast  of  Ravenswood  Castle  was  as  remarkable  for  its 
profusion,  as  that  of  Wolf's  Crag  had  been  for  its  ill-veiled 
penury.  The  Lord  Keeper  might  feel  internal  pride  at  the 
contrast,  but  he  had  too  much  tact  to  suffer  it  to  appear.  On 
the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  remember  with  pleasure  what  he 
called  Mr.  Balderston's  bachelor's  meal,  and  to  be  rather  dis- 
gusted than  pleased  with  the  display  upon  his  own  groaning 
board. 

"  We  do  these  things,"  he  said,  "  because  others  do  them — 
but  I  was  bred  a  plain  man  at  my  father's  frugal  table,  and  I 
should  like  well,  would  my  wife  and  family  permit  me,  to  return 
to  my  sowens  and  my  poor-man-of-mutton.'"  * 

This  was  a  little  overstretched.  The  Master  only  answered, 
*■  That  different  ranks — I  mean,"  said  he,  correcting  himself, 
"  different  degrees  of  wealth  require  a  different  style  of  house- 
keeping." 

This  dry  remark  put  a  stop  to  further  conversation  on  the 
subject,  nor  is  it  necessary  to  record  that  which  was  substituted 
in  its  place.  The  evening  was  spent  with  freedom,  and  even 
cordiality  ;  and  Henry  had  so  far  overcome  liis  first  apprehen- 
sions, that  he  had  settled  a  party  for  coursing  a  stag  with  the 
representative  and  living  resemblance  of  grim  Sir  Malise  of 
Ravenswood,  called  the  Revenger.     The  next  morning  was  the 

♦  Note  H.     The  Poor-Man-of-Mutton. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


^45 


appointed  time.  It  rose  upon  active  sportsmen  and  successful 
sport.  The  banquet  came  in  course  ;  and  a  pressing  invitation 
to  tarry  yet  another  day  was  given  and  accepted.  This  Ravens- 
wood  had  resolved  should  be  the  last  of  his  stay ;  but  he  recol- 
lected he  had  not  yet  visited  the  ancient  and  devoted  servant 
of  his  house,  Old  Alice,  and  it  was  but  kind  to  dedicate  one 
morning  to  the  gratification  of  so  ancient  an  adherent. 

To  visit  Alice,  therefore,  a  day  was  devoted,  and  Lucy  was 
the  Master's  guide  upon  the  way.  Henry,  it  is  true,  accom- 
panied them,  and  took  from  their  walk  the  air  of  a  tete-a-tete^ 
while,  in  reality,  it  was  little  else,  considering  the  variety  of 
circumstances  which  occurred  to  prevent  the  boy  from  giving 
the  least  attention  to  what  passed  between  his  companions. 
Now  a  rook  settled  on  a  branch  within  shot — anon  a  hare 
crossed  their  path,  and  Henry  and  his  greyhound  went  astray 
in  pursuit  of  it — then  he  had  to  hold  a  long  conversation  with 
the  forester,  which  detained  him  awhile  behind  his  companions 
— and  again  he  went  to  examine  the  earth  of  a  badger,  which 
carried  him  on  a  good  way  before  them. 

The  conversation  betwixt  the  Master  and  his  sister,  mean- 
while, took  an  interesting,  and  almost  confidential  turn.  She 
could  not  help  mentioning  the  sense  of  the  pain  he  must  feel 
in  visiting  scenes  so  well  known  to  him,  bearing  now  an  aspect 
so  different;  and  so  gently  was  her  sympathy  expressed,  that 
Ravenswood  felt  it  for  a  moment  as  a  full  requital  of  all  his 
misfortunes.  Some  such  sentiment  escaped  him,  which  Lucy 
heard  with  more  of  confusion  than  displeasure;  and  she  may 
be  forgiven  the  imprudence  of  listening  to  such  language,  con- 
sidering that  the  situation  in  which  she  was  placed  by  her  father 
seemed  to  authorize  Ravenswood  to  use  it.  Yet  she  made  an 
effort  to  turn  the  conversation,  and  she  succeeded ;  for  the 
Master  also  had  advanced  further  than  he  intended,  and  his 
conscience  had  instantly  checked  him  when  he  found  himself 
on  the  verge  of  speaking  love  to  the  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Ashton. 

They  now  approached  the  hut  of  old  Alice,  which  had  of  late 
been  rendered  more  comfortable,  and  presented  an  appearance 
less  picturesque,  perhaps,  but  far  neater  than  before.  The  old 
woman  was  on  her  accustomed  seat  beneath  the  weeping  birch, 
basking,  with  the  listless  enjoyment  of  age  and  infirmity,  in  the 
beams  of  the  autumn  sun.  At  the  arrival  of  her  visitors  she 
turned  her  head  toward  them.  "  I  hear  your  step.  Miss 
Ashton,"  she  said,  "hut  the  gentleman  who  attends  you  is  not 
my  lord,  your  father." 

"  And  why  should  you  think  so,  Alice  ?  "  said  Lucy  ;  "  or 


149 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


how  is  it  possible  for  you  to  judge  so  accurately  by  the  sound 
of  a  step,  on  this  firm  earth,  and  in  the  open  air  ?  " 

"  My  hearing,  my  child,  has  been  sharpened  by  my  blind- 
ness, and  I  can  now  draw  conclusions  from  the  slightest  sounds, 
which  formerly  reached  my  ears  as  unheeded  as  they  now 
approach  yours.  Necessity  is  a  stern,  but  an  excellent  school- 
mistress, and  she  that  has  lost  her  sight  must  collect  her  infor- 
mation from  other  sources." 

"  Well,  you  hear  a  man's  step,  I  grant  it,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  but 
why,  Alice,  may  it  not  be  my  father's  ?  " 

"  The  pace  of  age,  my  love,  is  timid  and  cautious — the  foot 
takes  leave  of  the  earth  slowly,  and  is  planted  down  upon  it 
with  hesitation  ;  it  is  the  hasty  and  determined  step  of  youth 
that  I  now  hear,  and — could  I  give  credit  to  so  strange  a 
thought — I  should  say  it  was  the  step  of  a  Ravenswood." 

"  This  is,  indeed,"  said  Ravenswood,  "an  acuteness  of  organ 
which  I  could  not  have  credited  had  I  not  witnessed  it. — I  am 
indeed  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  Alice,  the  son  of  your  old 
master." 

"  You  !  "  said  the  old  woman,  with  almost  a  scream  of  sur- 
prise— "  You  the  Master  of  Ravenswood — here — in  this  place, 
and  thus  accompanied? — I  cannot  believe  it. — Let  me  pass  my 
old  hands  over  your  face,  that  my  touch  may  bear  witness  to 
my  ears." 

The  Master  sate  down  beside  her  on  the  earthen  bank,  and 
permitted  her  to  touch  his  features  with  her  trembling  hand. 

''  It  is,  indeed  !  "  she  said,  "  it  is  the  features  as  well  as  the 
voice  of  Ravenswood — the  high  lines  of  pride,  as  well  as  the 
bold  and  haughty  tone. — But  what  do  you  here.  Master  of 
Ravenswood  ? — what  do  you  in  your  enemy's  domain,  and  in 
company  with  his  child  .■* " 

As  old  Alice  spoke,  her  face  kindled,  as  probably  that  of  an 
ancient  feudal  vassal  might  have  done  in  whose  presence  his 
youthful  liege-lord  had  showed  some  symptom  of  degenerating 
from  the  spirit  of  his  ancestors. 

"The  Master  of  Ravenswood,"  said  Lucy,  who  liked  not  the 
tone  of  this  expostulation,  and  was  desirous  to  abridge  it  "  is 
upon  a  visit  to  my  father." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  old  blind  woman  in  an  accent  of 
surprise. 

"  I  knew,"  continued  Lucy,  "  I  should  do  him  a  pleasure  by 
conducting  him  to  your  cottage." 

"  Where,  to  sav  the  truth,  Alice,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  I  ex- 
pected a  more  cordial  reception." 

"  It  is  most  wonderful !  "  said  the  old  woman,  muttering  to 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  147 

herself ;  **  but  the  ways  of  Heaven  are  not  like  our  ways,   and  ,.  .'    j— ^ 
its  judgments   are   brought  about  by  means  far   beyond  our  ' i.-pf]}^^'- 
fathoming. — Hearken,  young  man,"  she   said  ;    "  your  fathers  '/ 
were  implacable,  but  they  were  honorable  foes  ;  they  sought    "-^  ^A^ 
not  to  ruin  their  enemies  under  the  mask  of  hospitality.     What 
have  you  to  do  with  Lucy  Ashton  ? — why  should   your  steps 
move  in  the  same  footpath  with  hers  ? — why  should  your  voice 
sound  in  the  same  chord  and  time  with  those   of   Sir  William 
Ashton's  daughter? — Young  man,  he  who  aims  at   revenge  by 
dishonorable  means  " 

"'^Be  silent,  woman  !  "  said  Ravenswood,  sternly  ;  "  is  it  the 
devil  that  prompts  your  voice  ? — Know  that  this  young  lady 
has  not  on  earth  a  friend  who  would  venture  farther  to  save  her 
from  injury  or  from  insult." 

"  And  is  it  even  so .-'  "  said  the  old  woman  in  an  altered  but 
melancholy  tone — "  Then  God  help  you  both  !  " 

"Amen  !  Alice,"  said  Lucy,  who  had  not  comprehended  the 
import  of  what  the  blind  woman  had  hinted,  "  and  send  you 
your  senses,  Alice,  and  your  good  humor.  If  you  hold  this 
mysterious  language,  instead  of  welcoming  your  friends,  they 
will  think  of  you  as  other  people  do." 

"  And  how  do  other  people  think  ?  "  said  Ravenswood,  for 
he  also  began  to  believe  the  old  woman  spoke  with  incoherence. 

"  They  think,"  said  Henry  Ashton,  who  came  up  at  that 
moment,  and  whispered  into  Ravenswood's  ear,  "  that  she  is  a 
witch,  that  should  have  been  burned  with  them  that  suffered  at 
Haddington." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  said  Alice,  turning  toward  the 
boy,  her  sightless  vision  inflamed  with  passion  :  "  that  I  am  a 
witch,  and  ought  to  have  suffered  with  the  helpless  old  wretches 
who  were  murdered  at  Haddington  ?  " 

"  Hear  to  that  now,"  again  whispered  Henry,  "  and  me 
whispering  lower  than  a  wren  cheeps  ?  " 

"  If  the  usurer,  and  the  oppressor,  and  the  grinder  of  the 
poor  man's  face,  and  the  remover  of  ancient  land-marks,  and 
the  subverter  of  ancient  houses,  were  at  the  same  stake  with 
me,  I  could  sav,  light  the  fire,  in  God's  name  !  " 

"That  is  dreadful,"  said  Lucy;  "I  have  never  seen  the 
poor  deserted  woman  in  this  state  of  mind  ;  but  age  and  poverty 
can  ill  bear  reproach. — Come,  Henry,  we  will  leave  her  for  the 
present — she  wishes  to  speak  with  the  Master  alone.  We  will 
walk  homeward,  and  rest  us,"  she  added,  looking  at  Ravens- 
wood, "bv  the  Mcrmaiden's  Well." 

"  And,  Alice,"  said  the  bov,  "  if  you  know  of  any  hare  that 
comes  through  among  the  deer  and  makes   them  drop  theil 


,48  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

calves  out  of  season,  you  may  tell  her,  with  my  compliments  to 
command,  that  if  Norman  has  not  got  a  silver  bullet  ready  foi 
her,  I'll  lend  him  one  of  my  doublet-buttons  on  purpose." 

Alice  made  no  answer  till  she  was  aware  that  the  sister  and 
brother  were  out  of  hearing.  She  then  said  to  Ravenswood, 
"And  you,  too,  are  angry  with  me  for  my  love  ? — it  is  just  that 
strangers  should  be  offended,  but  you,  too,  are  angry  !  " 

"  I  am  not  angry,  Alice,"  said  the  Master,  "only  surprised 
that  you,  whose  good  sense  1  have  heard  so  often  praised,  should 
give  way  to  offensive  and  unfounded  suspicions." 

"  Offensive  ?  "  said  Alice — "  ay,  truth  is  ever  offensive — but, 
surely,  not  unfounded." 

"  I  tell  you,  dame,  most  groundless,"  replied  Ravenswood. 

"  Then  the  world  has  changed  its  wont,  and  the  Ravenswoods 
their  hereditary  temper,  and  the  eyes  of  old  Alice's  understand- 
ing are  yet  more  blind  than  those  of  her  countenance.  When 
did  a  Ravenswood  seek  the  house  of  his  enemy,  but  with  the 
purpose  of  revenge  ? — and  hither  are  you  come,  Edgar  Ravens- 
wood, either  in  fatal  anger,  or  in  still  more  fatal  love." 

"In  neither,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  I  give  you  mine  honor — 
I  mean,  I  assure  you." 

Alice  could  not  see  his  blushing  cheek,  but  she  noticed  his 
hesitation,  and  that  he  retracted  the  pledge  which  he  seemed  at 
first  disposed  to  attach  to  his  denial. 

"  It  is  so,  then,"  she  said,  "  and  therefore  she  is  to  tarry  by 
the  Mermaiden's  Well !  Often  has  it  been  called  a  place  fatal 
to  the  race  of  Ravenswood — often  has  it  proved  so — but  never 
was  it  likely  to  verify  old  sayings  as  much  as  on  this  day.' 

"  You  drive  me  to  madness,  Alice,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "you 
are  more  silly  and  more  superstitious  than  old  Balderston.  Are 
you  such  a  wretched  Christian  as  to  suppose  I  would  in  the 
present  day  levy  war  against  the  Ashton  family,  as  was  the  san- 
guinary custom  in  elder  times  ?  or  do  you  suppose  me  so  foolish, 
that  I  cannot  walk  by  a  young  lady's  side  without  plunging 
headlong  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  My  thoughts,"  replied  Alice,  "are  my  own  ;  and  if  my 
mortal  sight  is  closed  to  objects  present  with  me,  it  may  be  I 
can  look  with  more  steadiness  into  future  events.  Are  you 
prepared  to  sit  lowest  at  the  board  which  was  once  your  father's 
own,  unwillingly,  as  a  connection  and  ally  of  his  proud  succes- 
sor ? — Are  you  ready  to  live  on  his  bounty — to  follow  him  in 
the  bypaths  of  intrigue  and  chicane,  which  none  can  better  point 
out  to  you — to  gnaw  the  bones  of  his  prey  when  he  has  devoured 
the  substance  ? — Can  you  say  as  Sir  William  Ashton  says — 
think  as  he  thinks — vote  as  he  votes,  and  call  your  father's 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM ER  MOOR.  149 

murderer  your  worshipful  father-in-law  and  revered  patron  ? — 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  I  am  the  eldest  servant  of  your  house, 
and  I  would  rather  see  you  shrouded  and  coffined  !  " 

The  tumult  in  Ravenswood's  mind  was  uncommonly  great , 
she  struck  upon  and  awakened  a  chord  which  he  had  for  some 
time  successfully  silenced.  He  strode  backward  and  forward 
through  the  little  garden  with  a  hasty  pace ;  and  at  length 
checking  himself,  and  stopping  right  opposite  to  Alice,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Woman  !  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  dare  you  urge 
the  son  of  your  master  to  blood  and  to  revenge  ? " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Alice  solemnly  ;  "  and  therefore  I  would 
have  you  depart  these  fatal  bounds,  where  your  love,  as  well  as 
your  hatred,  threatens  sure  mischief,  or  at  least  disgrace, 
both  to  yourself  and  to  others.  I  would  shield,  were  it  in  the 
power  of  this  withered  band,  the  Ashtons  from  you,  and  you 
from  them,  and  both  from  their  own  passions.  You  can  have 
nothing — ought  to  have  nothing,  in  common  with  them — Begone 
from  among  them  ;  and  if  God  has  destined  vengeance  on  the 
oppressor's  house,  do  not  you  be  the  instrument." 

"  I  will  think  on  what  you  have  said,  Alice,"  said  Ravens- 
wood,  more  composedly.  "  I  believe  you  mean  truly  and  faith- 
fully by  me,  but  you  urge  the  freedom  of  an  ancient  domestic 
somewhat  too  far.  But  farewell ;  and  if  Heaven  afford  me 
better  means,  I  will  not  fail  to  contribute  to  your  comfort." 

He  attempted  to  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  her  hand  which  she 
refused  to  receive  ;  and,  in  the  slight  struggle  attending  his  wish 
to  force  it  upon  her,  it  dropped  to  the  earth. 

"Let  it  remain  an  instant  on  the  ground,"  said  Alice,  as  the 
Master  stooped  to  raise  it ;  "  and  believe  me,  that  piece  of  gold 
is  an  emblem  of  her  whom  you  love  ;  she  is  as  precious,  I  grant, 
but  you  must  stoop  even  to  abasement  before  you  can  win  her. 
For  me,  I  have  as  little  to  do  with  gold  as  with  earthly  passions  ; 
and  the  best  news  that  the  world  has  in  store  for  me  is,  that 
Edgar  Ravenswood  is  a  hundred  miles  distant  from  the  seat  of 
his  ancestors,  with  the  determination  never  again  to  behold  it." 

"Alice,"  said  the  Master,  who  began  to  think  this  earnest- 
ness had  some  more  secret  cause  than  arose  from  anything  that 
the  blind  woman  could  have  gathered  from  this  casual  visit, 
"  I  have  heard  you  praised  by  my  mother  for  your  sense,  acute- 
ness,  and  fidelity;  you  arc  no  fool  to  stnrt  at  shadows,  or  to 
dread  old  superstitious  saws,  like  Caleb  Balderston  ;  tell  me  dis- 
tinctly where  my  danger  lies,  if  you  are  aware  of  any  which  is 
tending  toward  me.  If  I  know  myself,  I  am  free  from  all  such 
views  respecting  Miss  Ashton  r.:  you  impute  to  me.  I  have  ne- 
cessary business  to  settle  with  Sir  William — that  arranged,  I 


i^o  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

shall  depart ;  and  with  as  little  wish,  as  you  may  easily  believe, 
to  return  to  a  place  full  of  melancholy  subjects  of  reflection,  as 
you  have  to  see  me  here." 

Alice  bent  her  sightless  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  was  foT 
some  time  plunged  in  deep  meditation,  "  I  will  speak  the 
truth,"  she  said  at  length,  raising  up  her  head — "I  will  tell  you 
the  source  of  my  apprehensions,  whether  my  candor  be  for  good 
or  for  evil. — Lucy  Ashton  loves  you,  Lord  of  Ravenswood  !  " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  the  Master. 

"  A  thousand  circumstances  have  proved  it  to  me,"  replied 
the  blind  woman.  "  Her  thoughts  have  turned  on  no  one  else 
since  you  saved  her  from  death,  and  that  my  experienced 
judgment  has  won  from  her  own  conversation.  Having  told 
you  this — if  you  are  indeed  a  gentleman  and  your  father's  son 
— you  will  make  it  a  motive  for  flying  from  her  presence.  Her 
passion  will  die  like  a  lamp,  for  want  of  that  the  flame  should 
feed  upon  ;  but,  if  you  remain  here,  her  destruction,  or  yours, 
or  that  of  both,  will  be  the  inevitable  consequence  of  her  mis 
placed  attachment.  I  tell  j'ou  this  secret  unwillingly,  but  it 
could  not  have  been  hid  long  from  your  own  observation  ;  and 
it  is  better  you  learn  it  from  mine.  Depart,  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood — you  have  my  secret.  If  you  remain  an  hour  under  Sir 
William  Ashton's  roof  without  the  resolution  to  marry  his 
daughter,  you  are  a  villain — if  with  the  purpose  of  allying  your- 
self with  him,  you  are  an  infatuated  and  predestined  fool." 

So  saying,  the  old  blind  woman  arose,  assumed  her  staff, 
and  tottering  to  her  hut,  entered  it  and  closed  the  door,  leaving 
Ravenswood  to  his  own  reflections. 


CHAPTER  NINETEENTH. 

Lovelier  in  her  own  retired  abode 

than  Naiad  by  the  sid« 

Of  Grecian  1)r()ok — or  Lady  of  the  Mete 
Lone  sitting  by  the  shores  of  old  romance. 

WORDSWORTIf. 

The  meditations  of  Ravenswood  were  of  a  very  mixed  com- 
plexion. He  saw  himself  at  once  in  the  very  dilemma  which 
he  had  for  some  time  felt  apprehensive  he  might  be  placed  in. 
The  pleasure  he  felt  in  Lucy's  company  had  indeed  approached 
to  fascination,  yet  it  had  never  altogether  surmounted  his  inter- 
nal reluctance  to  wed  with  the  daughter  of  his  father's  foe  ' 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


JSi 


and  even  in  forgiving  Sir  William  Ashton  the  injuries  which  his 
family  had  received,  and  giving  him  credit  for  the  kind  inten- 
tions he  professed  to  entertain,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
contemplate  as  possible  an  alliance  betwixt  their  houses.  Still 
he  felt  that  Alice  spoke  truth,  and  that  h^s  honor  now  required 
he  should  take  an  instant  leave  of  Ravenswood  Castle,  or 
become  a  suitor  of  Lucy  Ashton.  The  possibility  of  being 
rejected,  too,  should  he  make  advances  to  her  wealthy  and 
powerful  father — to  sue  for  the  hand  of  an  Ashton  and  be 
refused — this  were  a  consummation  too  disgraceful.  "  I  wish  her 
well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  And  for  her  sake  I  forgive  the  in- 
juries her  father  has  done  to  my  house ;  but  I  will  never — no, 
never  see  her  more  !  " 

With  one  bitter  pang  he  adopted  this  resolution,  just  as  he 
came  to  where  two  paths  parted  ;  the  one  to  the  Mermaiden's 
Fountain,  where  he  knew  Lucy  waited  him,  the  other  leading 
to  the  castle  by  another  and  more  circuitous  road.  He  paused 
an  instant  when  about  to  take  the  latter  path,  thinking  what 
apology  he  should  make  for  conduct  which  must  needs  seem 
extraordinary,  and  had  just  muttered  to  himself,  "  Sudden  news 
from  Edinburgh — any  pretext  will  serve — only  let  me  dally  no 
longer  here,"  when  young  Henry  came  flying  up  to  him,  half 
out  of  breath — "  Master,  Master,  you  must  give  Lucy  your  arm 
back  to  the  castle,  for  I  cannot  give  her  mine  ;  for  Norman  is 
waiting  for  me,  and  I  am  to  go  with  him  to  make  his  ring-walk, 
and  I  would  not  stay  away  for  a  gold  Jacobus,  and  Lucy  is 
afraid  to  walk  home  alone,  though  all  the  wild  nowt  have  been 
shot,  and  so  you  must  come  away  directly." 

Betwixt  two  scales  equally  loaded  a  feather's  weight  will 
turn  the  scale.  "  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  the  young 
lady  in  the  wood  alone,"  said  Ravenswood,  "to  see  her  once 
more  can  be  of  little  consequence,  after  the  frequent  meetings 
we  have  had — I  ought,  too,  \x\  courtesy,  to  apprise  her  of  my 
intention  to  quit  the  castle." 

And  having  thus  satisfied  himself  that  he  was  taking  not 
only  a  wise,  but  an  absolutely  necessary  step,  he  took  the  path 
to  the  fatal  fountain.  Henry  no  sooner  saw  him  on  the  way 
to  join  his  sister,  than  he  was  off  like  lightning  in  another 
direction  to  enjoy  the  society  of  the  forester  in  their  congenial 
pursuits.  Ravenswood,  not  allowing  himself  to  give  a  second 
thought  to  the  propriety  of  his  own  conduct,  walked  with  a 
quick  step  toward  the  stream,  where  he  found  Lucy  seated 
alone  by  the  ruin. 

She  sate  upon  one  of  the  disjointed  stones  of  the  ancient 
fountain,  and  seemed  to  watch  the  progress  of  its  current  as  it 


»5« 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


bubbled  forth  to  daylight  in  gay  and  sparkling  profusion  from 
under  the  shadow  of  the  ribbed  and  darksome  vault,  with  which 
veneration,  or  perhaps  remorse,  had  canopied  its  source.  To 
a  superstitious  eye,  Lucy  Ashton,  folded  in  a  plaided  mantle, 
with  her  long  hair,  escaping  partly  from  the  snood  and  falling 
upon  her  silver  neck,  might  have  suggested  the  idea  of  the 
murdered  Nymph  of  the  Fountain.  But  Ravenswood  only  saw 
a  female  exquisitely  beautiful,  and  rendered  yet  more  so  in  his 
eyes — how  could  it  be  otherwise — by  the  consciousness  that  she 
had  placed  her  affections  on  him.  As  he  gazed  on  her,  he  felt 
his  fixed  resolution  melting  like  wax  in  the  sun,  and  hastened, 
therefore,  from  his  concealment  in  the  neighboring  thicket. 
She  saluted  him,  but  did  not  arise  from  the  stone  on  which  she 
was  seated. 

"  My  mad-cap  brother,"  she  said,  "  has  left  me,  but  I  expect 
him  back  in  a  few  minutes — for  fortunately,  as  anything  pleases 
him  for  a  minute,  nothing  has  charms  for  him  much  longer." 

Ravenswood  did  not  feel  the  power  of  informing  Lucy  that 
her  brother  meditated  a  distant  excursion  and  would  not  re- 
turn in  haste.  He  sate  himself  down  on  the  grass  at  some 
little  distance  from  Miss  Ashton,  and  both  were  silent  for  a 
short  space. 

"  I  like  this  spot,"  said  Lucy  at  length,  as  if  she  had  found 
the  silence  embarrassing  ;  "the  bubbling  murmur  of  the  clear 
fountain,  the  waving  of  the  trees,  the  profusion  of  grass  and 
wild-flowers,  that  rise  among  the  ruins,  make  it  like  a  scene  in 
romance.  I  think,  too,  I  have  heard  it  is  a  spot  connected 
with  the  legendary  lore  which  I  love  so  well." 

"  It  has  been  thought,"  answered  Ravenswood,  "  a  fatal  spot 
to  my  family  ;  and  I  have  some  reason  to  term  it  so,  for  it  was 
here  I  first  saw  Miss  Ashton — and  it  is  here  I  must  take  my 
leave  of  her  forever." 

The  blood,  which  the  first  part  of  this  speech  called  into 
Lucy's  cheeks,  w-as  speedily  expelled  by  its  conclusion. 

"  To  take  leave  of  us.  Master  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  what  can 
have  happened  to  hurry  you  away  ? — I  know  Alice  hates — I 
mean  dislikes  my  father — and  I  hardly  understood  her  humor 
to-day,  it  was  so  mysterious.  But  I  am  certain  my  father  is 
sincerely  grateful  for  the  high  service  you  rendered  us.  Let  me 
hope  that  having  won  vour  friendship  hardly,  we  shall  not  lose 
it  lightly." 

"  Lose  it,  Miss  Ashton  ?  "  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood, 
■ — *'  No — wherever  my  fortune  calls  me — whatever  she  inflicts 
upon  me — it  is  your  friend — your  sincere  friend,  who  acts  or 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


iS3 


suffers.  But  there  is  a  fate  on  me,  and  I  must  go,  or  I  shall 
add  the  ruin  of  others  to  my  own." 

"Yet  do  not  go  from  us.  Master,"  said  Lucy  ;  and  she  laid 
her  hand,  in  all  simplicity  and  kindness,  upon  the  skirt  of  his 
cloak,  as  if  to  detain  him — "  You  shall  not  part  from  us.  My 
father  is  powerful,  he  has  friends  that  are  more  so  than  him- 
self— do  not  go  till  you  see  what  his  gratitude  will  do  for  you. 
Believe  me,  he  is  already  laboring  in  your  behalf  with  the 
Council." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  Master,  proudly  ;  "  yet  it  is  not  to 
your  father,  Miss  Ashton,  but  to  my  own  exertions,  that  I  ought 
to  owe  success  in  the  career  on  which  I  am  about  to  enter.  My 
preparations  are  already  made — a  sword  and  a  cloak,  and  a 
bold  heart  and  a  determined  hand." 

Lucy  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  tears,  in 
spite  of  her,  forced  their  way  between  her  fingers.  "  Forgive 
me,"  said  Ravenswood,  taking  her  right  hand,  which  after  slight 
resistance,  she  yielded  to  him,  still  continuing  to  shade  her  face 
with  the  left — "  I  am  too  rude — too  rough — too  intractable  to 
deal  with  any  being  so  soft  and  gentle  as  you  are.  Forget 
that  so  stern  a  vision  has  crossed  your  path  of  life — and  let  me 
pursue  mine,  sure  that  I  can  meet  with  no  worse  misfortune 
after  the  moment  it  divides  me  from  your  side." 

Lucy  wept  on,  but  her  tears  were  less  bitter.  Each  attempt 
which  the  Master  made  to  explain  his  purpose  of  departure, 
only  proved  a  new  evidence  of  his  desire  to  stay;  until,  at 
length,  instead  of  bidding  her  farewell,  he  gave  his  faith  to  her 
forever,  and  received  her  troth  in  return.  The  whole  passed  so 
suddenl}',  and  arose  so  much  out  of  the  immediate  impulse  of 
the  moment,  that  ere  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  reflect 
upon  the  consequences  of  the  step  which  he  had  taken,  their 
lips,  as  well  as  their  hands,  had  pledged  the  sincerity  of  their 
affection. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  consideration,  "  it  is 
fit  I  should  speak  to  Sir  William  Ashton — he  must  know  of  our 
engagement.  Ravenswood  must  not  seem  to  dwell  under  his 
roof,  to  solicit  clandestinely  the  affections  of  his  daughter." 

"  You  would  not  speak  to  my  father  on  the  subject  ?  "  said 
Lucy,  doubtingly  ;  and  then  added  more  warmly,  "  O  do  not — 
do  not !  Let  your  lot  in  life  be  determined — your  station  and 
purpose  acertained,  before  you  address  my  father ;  I  am  sure 
he  loves  you — I  think  he  will  consent — but  then  my  mother  !  " 

She  paused,  ashamed  to  express  the  doubt  she  felt  how  far 
her  father  dared  to  form  any  positive  resolution  on  this  most 
important  subject,  without  the  consent  of  his  lady. 


«54 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


"  Your  mother,  my  Lucy  ? "  replied  Ravenswood,  "  she  is  of 
the  house  of  Douglas,  a  house  that  has  intermarried  with  mine, 
even  when  its  glory  and  power  were  at  the  highest — what  could 
your  mother  object  to  my  alliance  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say,  object,"  said  Lucy ;  "  but  she  is  jealous  of 
her  rights,  and  may  claim  a  mother's  title  to  be  consulted  in 
the  first  instance." 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  Ravenswood ;  "  London  is  distant,  but 
a  letter  will  reach  it  and  receive  an  answer  within  a  fortnight 
— I  will  not  press  on  the  Lord  Keeper  for  an  instant  reply  to 
my  proposal." 

"  But,"  hesitated  Lucy,  "  were  it  not  better  to  wait — to  wait 
a  few  weeks  ? — Were  my  mother  to  see  you — to  know  you — I 
am  sure  she  would  approve ;  but  you  are  unacquainted  per- 
sonally, and  the  ancient  feud  between  the  families  " 

Ravenswood  fixed  upon  her  his  keen  dark  eyes,  as  if  he 
was  desirous  of  penetrating  into  her  very  soul. 

"  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sacrificed  to  you  projects  of  ven- 
geance long  nursed,  and  sworn  to  with  ceremonies  little  better 
than  heathen — I  sacrificed  them  to  your  image,  ere  I  knew  the 
worth  which  it  represented.  In  the  evening  which  succeeded 
my  poor  father's  funeral,  I  cut  a  lock  from  my  hair,  and,  as  it 
consumed  in  the  fire,  I  swore  that  my  rage  and  revenge  should 
pursue  his  enemies,  until  they  shriveled  before  me  like  that 
scorched-up  symbol  of  annihilation." 

"  It  was  a  deadly  sin,"  said  Lucy,  turning  pale,  "  to  make  a 
vow  so  fatal," 

"  I  acknowledge  it,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  and  it  had  been  a 
worse  crime  to  keep  it.  It  was  for  your  sake  that  I  adjured 
these  purposes  of  vengeance,  though  I  scarce  knew  that  such 
was  the  argument  by  which  I  was  conquered,  until  1  saw  you 
once  more,  and  became  conscious  of  the  influence  you  possessed 
over  me." 

"  And  why  do  you  now,"  said  Lucy,  "  recall  sentiments  so 
terrible — sentiments  so  inconsistent  with  those  you  profess 
for  me — with  those  3'our  importunity  has  prevailed  on  me  to 
acknowledge .'' " 

"Because,"  said  her  lover,  "I  would  impress  on  you  the 
price  at  which  I  have  bought  your  love — the  right  I  have  to 
expect  your  constancy.  I  say  not  that  I  have  bartered  for  it  the 
honor  of  my  house,  its  last  remaining  possession — but  though 
I  say  it  not,  and  think  it  not,  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself  that 
the  world  may  do  both." 

"If  such  are  your  sentiments,"  said  Lucy,  "you  have  played 
a  cruel  game  with  me.     But  it  is  not  too  late  to  give  it  over — 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


^^l 


take  back  the  faith  and  troth  which  you  could  not  plight  to  me 
without  suffering  abatement  of  honor — let  what  is  passed  be  as 
if  it  had  not  been — forget  me — I  will  endeavor  to  forget  my- 
self." 

"  You  do  me  injustice,"  said  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  ; 
"  by  all  I  hold  true  and  honorable,  you  do  me  the  extremity  of 
injustice — if  I  mentioned  the  price  at  which  I  have  bought  your 
love,  it  is  only  to  show  how  much  I  prize  it,  to  bind  our  engage- 
ment by  a  still  firmer  tie,  and  to  show,  by  what  I  have  done  to 
attain  this  station  in  your  regard,  how  much  I  must  suffer 
should  you  ever  break  your  faith." 

"  And  why,  Ravenswood,"  answered  Lucy,  "  should  you 
think  that  possible  .' — Why  should  you  urge  me  with  even  the 
mention  of  infidelity .'' — Is  it  because  I  ask  you  to  delay  apply- 
ing to  my  father  for  a  little  space  of  time  ?  Bind  me  by  what 
vows  you  please  ;  if  vows  are  unnecessary  to  secure  constancy, 
they  may  yet  prevent  suspicion." 

Ravenswood  pleaded,  apologized,  and  even  kneeled,  to 
appease  her  displeasure  ;  and  Lucy,  as  placable  as  she  was 
single-hearted,  readily  forgave  the  offence  which  his  doubts  had 
implied.  The  dispute  thus  agitated,  however,  ended  by  the 
lovers  going  through  an  emblematic  ceremony  of  their  troth- 
plight,  of  which  the  vulgar  still  preserve  some  traces.  They 
broke  betwixt  them  the  thin  broaKl-pj.e££_M-gQld  which  Alice  j,i,j_;^ 
had  refused  to  receive  from  Ravenswood.  ^  rf^ 

"And  never  shall  this  leave  my  bosom,"  said  Lucy,  as  she 
hung  the  piece  of  gold  round  her  neck,  and  concealed  it  with 
her  handkerchief,  "  until  you,  Edgar  Ravenswood,  ask  me  to 
resign  it  to  you — and,  while  I  wear  it,  never  shall  that  heart 
acknowledge  another  love  than  yours." 

With  like  protestations,  Ravenswood  placed  his  portion  of 
the  coin  opposite  to  his  heart.  And  now,  at  length,  it  struck 
them,  that  time  had  hurried  fast  on  during  this  interview,  and 
their  absence  at  the  castle  would  be  a  subject  of  remark,  if  not 
of  alarm.  As  they  rose  to  leave  the  fountain  which  had  been 
witness  of  their  mutual  engagement,  an  arrow  whistled  through 
the  air,  and  struck  a  raven  perched  on  the  sere  branch  of  an 
old  oak,  near  to  where  they  had  been  seated.  The  bird  flut» 
tered  a  few  yards,  and  dropped  at  the  feet  of  Lucy,  whose  dress 
was  stained  with  some  spots  of  its  blood. 

Miss  Ashton  was  much  alarmed,  and  Ravenswood,  surprised 
and  angry,  looked  everywhere  for  the  marksman,  who  had  given 
them  a  proof  of  his  skill,  as  little  expected  as  desired.  He  was 
not  long  of  discovering  himself,  being  no  other  than  Henry  Asj?- 
ton,  who  came  running  up  with  a  crossbow  irx  his  hand. 


,c6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

*'  I  knew  I  should  startle  you,"  he  said  ;  "  and  do  you  know 
you  looked  so  busy  that  I  hoped  it  would  have  fallen  souse  on 
your  heads  before  you  were  aware  of  it. — What  was  the  Master 
saying  to  you,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  I  was  telling  your  sister  what  an  idle  lad  you  were,  keeping 
us  waiting  here  for  you  so  long,"  said  Ravenswood,  to  save 
Lucy's  confusion. 

"  Waiting  forme  ?  Why,  I  told  you  to  see  Lucy  home,  and 
that  I  was  to  go  to  make  the  ring-walk  with  old  Norman  in  the 
Hayberry  thicket,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  would  take  a  good 
hour,  and  we  have  all  the  deer's  marks  and  furnishes  got,  while 
you  were  sitting  here  with  Lucy  like  a  lazy  loon." 

"  Well,  well,  Mr.  Henry,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  but  let  us 
see  how  you  will  answer  to  me  for  killing  the  raven.  Do  you 
know  the  ravens  are  all  under  the  protection  of  the  Lords  of 
Ravenswood,  and  to  kill  one  in  their  presence  is  such  bad  luck 
that  it  deserves  the  stab  .''  " 

"  And  that's  what  Norman  said,"  replied  the  boy  ;  "  he 
came  as  far  with  me,  as  within  a  flight-shot  of  you,  and  he  said 
he  never  saw  a  raven  sit  still  so  near  living  folk,  and  he  wished 
it  might  be  for  good  luck ;  for  the  raven  is  one  of  the  wildest 
birds  that  flies,  unless  it  be  a  tame  one — and  so  I  crept  on  and 
on,  till  I  was  within  three  score  yards  of  him,  and  then  whiz 
went  the  bolt,  and  there  he  lies,  faith  !  Was  it  not  well  shot  ? — 
and,  I  daresay,  I  have  not  shot  in  a  crossbow — not  ten  times 
maybe." 

"  Admirably  shot  indeed,"  said  Ravenswood;  "and you  will 
be  a  fine  marksman  if  you  practise  hard." 

"  And  that's  what  Norman  says,"  answered  the  boy;  "but 
I  am  sure  it  is  not  my  fault  if  I  do  not  practise  enough  ;  for, 
of  free  will,  I  would  do  little  else,  only  my  father  and  tutor  are 
angry  sometimes,  and  only  Miss  Lucy  there  gives  herself  airs 
about  my  being  busy,  for  all  she  can  sit  idle  by  a  well-side  the 
whole  day,  when  she  has  a  handsome  young  gentleman  to 
prate  with — I  have  known  her  do  so  twenty  times,  if  you  will 
believe  me." 

The  boy  looked  at  his  sister  as  he  spoke,  and  in  the  midst 
of  his  mischievous  chatter,  had  ihe  sense  to  see  that  he  was 
really  inflicting  pain  upon  her,  tliough  without  being  able  to 
comprehend  the  cause  or  the  amount. 

*'  Come  now,  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  don't  greet  ;  and  if  I  have 
said  anything  beside  the  mark,  I'll  deny  it  again — and  what 
does  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  care  if  you  had  a  hundred 
sweethearts  .'  so  ne'er  put  finger  in  your  eye  about  it." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  was,  for  the  moment,  scarce 


THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


'57 


satisfied  with  what  he  heard ;  yet  his  good  sense  naturally  re- 
garded it  as  the  chatter  of  a  spoilt  boy,  who  strove  to  mortify 
his  sister  in  the  point  which  seemed  most  accessible  for  the 
time.  But  although  of  a  temper  equally  slow  in  receiving  im- 
pressions, and  obstinate  in  retaining  them,  the  prattle  of  Henry 
served  to  nourish  in  his  mind  some  vague  suspicion,  that  his 
present  engagement  might  only  end  in  his  being  exposed  like  a 
conquered  enemy  in  a  Roman  triumph,  a  captive  attendant  on 
the  car  of  a  victor,  who  meditated  only  the  satiating  his  pride 
at  the  expense  of  the  vanquished.  There  was,  we  repeat  it,  no 
real  ground  whatever  for  such  an  apprehension,  nor  could  he 
be  said  seriously  to  entertain  such  for  a  moment.  Indeed,  it 
was  impossible  to  look  at  the  clear  blue  eye  of  Lucy  Ashton, 
and  entertain  the  slightest  permanent  doubt  concerning  the  sin- 
cerity of  her  disposition.  Still,  however,  conscious  pride  and 
conscious  poverty  combined  to  render  a  mind  suspicious,  which 
in  more  fortunate  circumstances,  would  have  been  a  stranger  to 
that  as  well  as  to  every  other  meanness. 

They  reached  the  castle,  where  Sir  William  Ashton,  who 
had  been  alarmed  by  the  length  of  their  stay,  met  them  in  the 
hall. 

"  Had  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  been  in  any  other  company  than 
that  of  one  who  had  shown  he  had  so  complete  power  of  pro- 
tecting her,  he  confessed  he  should  have  been  very  uneasy,  and 
would  have  despatched  persons  in  quest  of  them.  But,  in  the 
company  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  he  knew  his  daughter 
had  nothing  to  dread." 

Lucy  commenced  some  apology  for  their  long  delay,  but, 
conscience  struck,  became  confused  as  she  proceeded  ;  and 
when  Ravenswood,  coming  to  her  assistance,  endeavored  to 
render  the  explanation  complete  and  satisfactory,  iie  only  in- 
volved himself  in  the  same  disorder,  like  one  who,  endeavoring 
to  extricate  his  companion  from  a  slough,  entangles  himself  in 
the  same  tenacious  swamp.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that  the 
confusion  of  the  two  youthful  lovers  escaped  the  observation  of 
the  subtle  lawyer,  accustomed  by  habit  and  profession  to  trace 
human  nature  through  all  her  windings.  But  it  was  not  his 
present  policy  to  take  any  notice  of  what  he  observed.  He  de- 
sired to  hold  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  bound,  but  wished  that 
he  himself  should  remain  free  ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
his  plan  might  be  defeated  by  Lucy  returning  the  passion  which 
he  hoped  she  might  inspire.  If  she  should  adopt  some  roman- 
tic feelings  toward  Ravenswood,  in  which  circumstances,  or 
the  positive  and  absolute  opposition  of  Lady  Ashton,  might 
jreiider  it  unadvisabl?  to  indulge  her,  the  Lord  Keeper  conceived 


1^8  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

they  might  easily  be  superseded  and  annulled  by  a  journey  to 
Edinburgh,  or  even  London,  a  new  set  of  Brussels  lace,  and  the 
soft  whispers  of  half-a-dozen  lovers,  anxious  to  replace  him 
whom  it  was  convenient  she  should  renounce.  This  was  his 
provision  for  the  worst  view  of  the  case.  But,  according  to  its 
more  probable  issue,  any  passing  favor  she  might  entertain  for 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  might  require  encouragement  rather 
than  repression. 

This  seemed  the  more  likely  as  he  had  that  very  morning, 
since  their  departure  from  the  castle,  received  a  letter,  the  con- 
tents of  which  he  hastened  to  communicate  to  Ravenswood. 
A  foot-post  had  arrived  with  a  packet  to  the  Lord  Keeper  from 
that  friend  whom  we  have  already  mentioned,  who  was  labor- 
ing hard  under-hand  to  consolidate  a  band  of  patriots,  at  the 
head  of  whom  stood  Sir  William's  greatest  terror,  the  active 
and  ambitious  Marquis  of  A .  The  success  of  this  con- 
venient friend  had  been  such,  that  he  had  obtained  from  Sir 
William,  not  indeed  a  directly  favorable  answer,  but  certainly 
a  most  patient  hearing.  'I'his  he  had  reported  to  his  principal, 
who  had  replied  by  the  ancient  French  adage,  "  Chateau  qui 
park,  etfemme  q/iic'coiitc,  P un  et  l' autre  va  se  re)idre."  A  statesman 
who  hears  you  propose  a  change  of  measures  without  reply,  was, 
according  to  the  Marquis's  opinion,  in  the  situation  of  the  for- 
tress which  parleys,  and  the  lady  who  listens,  and  he  resolved 
to  press  the  siege  of  the  Lord  Keeper. 

The  packet,  therefore,  contained  a  letter  from  his  friend  and 
ally,  and  another  from  himself  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  frankly 
offering  an  unceremonious  visit.  They  were  crossing  the  coun- 
try to  go  to  the  southward — the  roads  were  indifferent,  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  iims  as  execrable  as  possible — the  Lord 
Keeper  had  been  long  acquainted  intimately  with  one  of  his  cor- 
respondents, and  though  more  slightly  known  to  the  Marquis, 
had  yet  enough  of  his  Lordship's  acquaintance  to  render  the 
visit  sufficiently  natural,  and  to  shut  the  mouths  of  those  who 
might  be  disposed  to  impute  it  to  a  political  intrigue.  He  in- 
stantly accepted  the  offered  visit,  determined,  however,  that  he 
would  not  pledge  himself  an  inch  further  for  the  furtherance  of 
their  views  than  reasou  (by  which  he  meant  his  own  self-interest) 
should  plainly  point  out  to  him  as  jiroper. 

Two  circumstances  particularly  delighted  him — the  presence 
of  Ravenswood,  and  the  absence  of  his  own  lady.  By  having 
the  former  under  his  own  roof,  he  conceived  he  might  be  able 
to  quash  all  such  hazardous  and  hostile  proceedings  as  he 
might  otherwise  have  been  engaged  in  under  the  patronage  of 
the  Marquis  ;  and  Lucy,  he  foresaw,  would  make,  for  his  im- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


159 


mediate  purpose  of  delay  and  procrastination,  a  much  better 
mistress  of  his  family  than  her  mother,  who  would,  he  was  sure, 
in  some  shape  or  other,  contrive  to  disconcert  his  political 
schemes  by  her  proud  and  implacable  temper. 

His  anxious  solicitations  that  the  Master  would  stay  to  re- 
ceive his  kinsman  were  of  course  readily  complied  with,  since 
the  c'claircissement  which  had  taken  place  at  the  Mermaiden's 
Fountain  had  removed  all  wish  for  sudden  departure.  Lucy 
and  Lockhard  had,  therefore,  orders  to  provide  all  things  neces- 
sary in  their  different  departments  for  receiving  the  expected 
guests,  with  a  pomp  and  display  of  luxury  very  uncommon  in 
Scotland  at  that  remote  period. 


CHAPTER  TWENTIETH. 

Marall. — Sir,  the  man  of  honor's  come, 
Newly  alighted 

Overreach. — In  without  reply, 

And  do  as  I  command. 

Is  the  loud  music  I  gave  order  for 
Ready  to  receive  him.' 

New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts. 

Sir  William  Ashton,  although  a  man  of  sense,  legal  in- 
formation, and  great  practical  knowledge  of  the  world,  had  yet 
some  points  of  character  which  corresponded  better  with  the 
timidity  of  his  disposition  and  the  supple  arts  by  which  he  had 
risen  in  the  world,  than  to  the  degree  of  eminence  which  he 
had  attained  ;  as  they  tended  to  show  an  original  mediocrity  of 
understanding,  however  highly  it  had  been  cultivated,  and  a 
native  meanness  of  disposition,  however  carefully  veiled.  He 
loved  the  ostentatious  display  of  his  wealth,  less  as  a  man  to 
whom  habit  has  made  it  necessary  than  as  one  to  whom  it  is 
still  delightful  from  its  novelty.  The  most  trivial  details  did 
not  escape  him  ;  and  Lucy  soon  learned  to  watch  the  flush  of 
scorn  which  crossed  Ravenswood's  cheek  when  he  heard  her 
father  gravely  arguing  with  Lockhard,  nay,  even  with  the  old 
housekeeper,  upon  circumstances  which,  in  families  of  rank, 
are  left  uncared  for,  because  it  is  supposed  impossible  they 
can  be  neglected. 

"  I  could  pardon  Sir  William,"  said  Ravenswood,  one  even- 
ing after  he  had  left  the  room,  "  some  general  anxiety  upon 
this  occasion,  for  the  Marquis's  visit  is  an  honor,  and  should 


,6o  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

be  received  as  such ;  but  I  am  worn  out  by  these  miserabl* 
minutiae  of  the  buttery,  and  the  larder,  and  the  very  hen-coop 
— they  drive  me  beyond  my  patience  ;  I  would  rather  endure 
the  poverty  of  Wolf's  Crag  than  be  pestered  with  the  wealth  of 
Ravenswood  Castle." 

"And  yet,"  said  Lucy,  "  it  was  by  attention  to  these  minu- 
tire  that  my  father  acquired  the  property" 

''  Which  my  ancestors  sold  for  lack  of  it,"  replied  Ravens- 
wood.  "  Be  it  so  ;  a  porter  still  bears  but  a  burden,  though  the 
burden  be  of  gold." 

Lucy  sighed ;  she  perceived  too  plainly  that  her  lover  held 
in  scorn  the  manners  and  habits  of  a  father,  to  whom  she  had 
long  looked  up  as  her  best  and  most  partial  friend,  whose 
fondness  had  often  consoled  her  for  her  mother's  contemptuous 
harshness. 

The  lovers  soon  discovered  that  they  differed  upon  other 
and  no  less  important  topics.  Religion,  the  mother  of  peace, 
was  in  those  days  of  discord  so  misconstrued  and  mistaken, 
that  her  rules  and  forms  were  the  subject  of  the  most  opposite 
opinions,  and  the  most  hostile  animosities.  The  Lord  Keeper, 
being  a  whig,  was,  of  course,  a  Presbyterian,  and  had  found  it 
convenient,  at  different  periods,  to  express  greater  zeal  for  the 
kirk  than  perhaps  he  really  felt.  His  family,  equally  of  course, 
were  trained  under  the  same  institution.  Ravenswood,  as  we 
know,  was  a  High-Churchman,  or  Episcopalian,  and  frequently 
objected  to  Lucy  the  fanaticism  of  some  of  her  own  com- 
munion, while  she  intimated,  rather  than  expressed,  horror  at 
the  latitudinarian  principles  which  she  had  been  taught  to  think 
connected  with  the  prelatical  form  of  church  government. 

Thus,  although  their  mutual  affection  seemed  to  increase 
rather  than  to  be  diminished,  as  their  characters  opened  more 
fully  on  each  other,  the  feelings  of  each  were  mingled  with 
some  less  agreeable  ingredients.  Lucy  felt  a  secret  awe,  amid 
all  her  affection  for  Ravenswood.  His  soul  was  of  a  higher, 
prouder  character,  than  those  with  whom  she  had  hitherto 
mixed  in  intercourse  ;  his  ideas  were  more  fierce  and  free  ;  and 
he  contemned  many  of  the  opinions  which  had  been  inculcated  r, 
upon  her,  as  chiefly  demanding  her  veneration.  On  the  other  J 
hand,  Ravenswood  saw  in  Lucy  ^a  soft  and  flexible  character, '-^^ 
which,  in  his  eyes  at  least,  seemed  too  susceptible  of  beiiig 
moulded  to  any  form  by  those  with  whom  she  lived.  He  felt 
that  his  own  temper  required  a  partner  of  a  more  independent 
spirit,  who  could  set  sail  with  him  on  his  course  of  life,  re- 
solved as  himself  to  dare  indifferently  the  storm  and  the  favor- 
ing breeze.     But  Lucy  was  so  beautiful,  so   devoutly  attached 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  i6t 

to  him,  of  a  temper  so  exquisitely  soft  and  kind,  that,  while  he 
could  have  wished  it  were  possible  to  inspire  her  with  a  greater 
degree  of  firmness  and  resolution,  and  while  he  sometimes  be- 
came impatient  of  the  extreme  fear  which  she  expressed  of 
their  attachment  being  prematurely  discovered,  he  felt  that  the 
softness  of  a  mind,  amounting  almost  to  feebleness,  rendered 
her  even  dearer  to  him,  as  a  being  who  had  voluntarily  clung 
to  him  for  protection,  and  made  him  the  arbiter  of  her  fate  for 
weal  or  woe.  His  feelings  toward  her  at  such  moments,  were 
those  which  have  been  since  so  beautifully  expressed  by  qui 
immortal  Joanna  Baillie  : — 

Thou  sweetest  thing, 


That  e'er  did  fix  its  lightly-fibred  sprays 

To  the  rude  rock,  ah  !  wouldst  thou  cling  to  me  ? 

Rough  and  storm-worn  I  am — yet  love  me  as 

Thou  truly  dost,  I  will  love  thee  again 

With  true  and  honest  heart,  though  all  unmeet 

To  be  the  mate  of  such  sweet  gentleness. 

Thus  the  very  points  in  which  they  differed,  seemed,  in 
some  measure,  to  ensure  the  continuance  of  their  mutual  affec- 
tion. If,  indeed,  they  had  so  fully  appreciated  each  other's 
character  before  the  burst  of  passion  in  which  they  hastily 
pledged  their  faith  to  each  other,  Lucy  might  have  feared 
Ravenswood  too  much  ever  to  have  loved  him,  and  he  might 
have  construed  her  softness  and  docile  temper  as  imbecility 
rendering  her  unworthy  of  his  regard.  But  they  stood  pledged 
to  each  other ;  and  Lucy  only  feared  that  her  lover's  pride 
might  one  day  teach  him  to  regret  his  attachment  ;  Ravenswood, 
that  a  mind  so  ductile  as  Lucy's  might,  in  absence  or  difficulties, 
be  induced,  by  the  entreaties  or  influence  of  those  around  her, 
to  renounce  the  engagement  she  had  formed. 

"  Do  not  fear  it,"  said  Lucy,  when  upon  one  occasion  a  hint 
of  such  suspicion  escaped  her  lover  ;  "  the  mirrors  which  re- 
ceive the  reflection  of  all  successive  objects  are  framed  of  hard 
materials  like  glass  or  steel — the  softer  substances,  when  they 
receive  an  impression,  retain  it  undefaced." 

"  This  is  poetry,  Lucy,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  and  in  poetry 
there  is  always  fallacy,  and  sometimes  fiction." 

"  Believe  me,  then,  once  more,  in  honest  prose,"  said  Lucy, 
"  that,  though  I  will  never  wed  man  without  the  consent  of  my 
parents,  yet  neither  force  nor  persuasion  shall  dispose  of  my 
hand  till  you  renounce  the  right  I  have  given  you  to  it.  ' 

The  lovers  had  ample  time  for  such  explanations.  Henry 
was  now  more  seldom  their  companion,  being  either  a  most  un- 
willing attendant  upon  the  lessons  of  his  tutor,  or  a  forward 


l62  THE  BRIDE   OF  LA^rMER^IOOR. 

volunteer  under  the  instructions  of  the  foresters  or  grooms.  As 
for  the  Keeper,  his  mornings  were  spent  in  his  study,  maintain- 
ing correspondences  of  all  kinds,  and  balancing  in  his  anxious 
mind  the  various  intelligence  which  he  collected  from  every 
quarter  concerning  the  expected  change  in  Scottish  politics, 
and  the  probable  strength  of  the  parties  who  were  about  to 
struggle  for  power.  At  other  times  he  busied  himself  about 
arranging,  and  countermanding,  and  then  again  arranging,  the 
preparations  which  he  judged  necessarv'  for  the  reception  of  the 

Marquis  of  A ,  whose   arrival  had  been  twice   delayed  by 

some  necessar}'  cause  of  detention. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  various  avocations,  political  and 
domestic,  he  seemed  not  to  observe  how  much  his  daughter 
and  his  guest  were  thrown  into  each  other's  society,  and  was 
censured  by  many  of  his  neighbors,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  neighbors  in  all  countries,  for  suffering  such  an  intimate 
connection  to  take  place  betwixt  two  young  persons.  The  only 
natural  explanation  was,  that  he  designed  them  for  each  other; 
while,  in  truth,  his  only  motive  was  to  temporize  and  procras- 
tinate, until  he  should  discover  the  real  extent  of  the  interest 
which  the  Marquis  took  in  Ravenswood's  affairs,  and  the  power 
which  he  was  likely  to  possess  of  advancing  them.  Until  these 
points  should  be  made  both  clear  and  manifest,  the  Lord  Keeper 
resolved  that  he  would  do  nothing  to  commit  himself,  either  in 
one  shape  or  other  ;  and,  like  many  cunning  persons,  he  over- 
reached himself  deplorably. 

Amongst  those  who  had  been  disposed  to  censure  with  the 
greatest  severity  the  conduct  of  Sir  William  Ashton,  in  permit- 
ting the  prolonged  residence  of  Ravenswood  under  his  roof, 
and  his  constant  attendance  on  Miss  Ashton,  was  the  new 
Laird  of  Girnington,  and  his  faithful  squire  and  bottle-holder, 
personages  formerly  well  known  to  us  by  the  names  of  Hayston 
and  Bucklaw,  and  his  companion  Captain  Craigengelt.  The 
former  had  at  length  succeeded  to  the  extensive  property  of  his 
long-lived  grand-aunt,  and  to  considerable  wealth  besides,  which 
he  had  employed  in  redeeming  his  paternal  acres  (by  the  title 
appertaining  to  which  he  still  chose  to  be  designated),  notwith- 
standing Captain  Craigengelt  had  proposed  to  him  a  most  ad- 
vantageous mode  of  vesting  the  money  in  Law's  scheme,  which 
was  just  then  broached,  and  offered  his  services  to  travel  express 
to  Paris  for  the  purpose.  But  Bucklaw  had  so  far  derived  wis- 
dom from  adversity,  that  he  would  listen  to  n^  proposal  which 
Craigengelt  could  invent,  which  had  the  slightest  tendency  to 
risk  his  newly-acquired  independence.  He  that  once  had  eaten 
pease  bannocks,  drank  sour  wine  and  slept  in  the  secret  chamber 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR,  163 

at  Wolf's  Crag,  would,  he  said,  prize  good  cheer  and  a  soft  bed 
as  long  as  he  lived,  and  take  special  care  not  to  need  such 
hospitality  again. 

Craigengelt,  therefore,  found  himself  disappointed  in  the  first 
hopes  he  had  entertained  of  making  a  good  hand  of  the  Laird 
of  Bucklaw.  Still,  however,  he  reaped  many  advantages  from 
his  friend's  good  fortune.  Bucklaw,  who  had  never  been  at  all 
scrupulous  in  choosing  his  companions,  was  accustomed  to,  and 
entertained  by  a  fellow,  whom  he  could  either  laugh  with,  or 
laugh  at,  as  he  had  a  mind,  who  would  take,  according  to  Scot- 
tish phrase,  "the  bit  and  the  buffet,"  understood  all  sports, 
whether  within  or  without  doors,  and,  when  the  laird  had  a  mind 
for  a  bottle  of  wine  (no  infrequent  circumstance),  was  always 
ready  to  save  him  from  the  scandal  of  getting  drunk  by  himself. 
Upon  these  terms  Craigengelt  was  the  frequent,  almost  the  con- 
stant, inmate  of  the  house  of  Girnington. 

In  no  time,  and  under  no  possibility  of  circumstances  could 
good  have  been  derived  from  such  an  intimacy,  however  its  bad 
consequences  might  be  qualified  by  the  thorough  knowledge 
which  Bucklaw  possessed  of  his  dependant's  character,  and  the 
high  contempt  in  which  he  held  it.  But  as  circumstances  stood, 
this  evil  communication  was  particularly  liable  to  corrupt  what 
good  principles   nature  had  implanted  in  the  patron. 

Craigengelt  had  never  forgiven  the  scorn  with  which  Ravens- 
wood  had  torn  the  mask  of  courage  and  honesty  from  his  counten- 
nance  ;  and  to  exasperate  I^ucklaw's  resentment  against  him,  was 
the  safest  mode  of  revenge  that  occurred  to  his  cowardly,  yet 
cunning  and  malignant  disposition. 

He  brought  up,  on  all  occasions,  the  story  of  the  challenge 
which  Ravenswood  had  declined  to  accept,  and  endeavored,  by 
every  possible  insinuation,  to  make  his  patron  believe  that  his 
honor  was  concerned  in  bringing  that  matter  to  an  issue  by  a 
present  discussion  with  Ravenswood.  But  respecting  his  subject, 
Bucklaw  imposed  on  him,  at  length,  a  peremptory  command  of 
silence. 

"  I  think."  he  said,  "  the  Master  has  treated  me  unlike  a  gen 
tleman,  and  I  see  no  right  he  had  to  send  me  back  a  cavalier 
answer  when  I  demanded  the  satisfaction  of  one — But  he  gave 
me  my  life  once — and,  in  looking  the  matter  over  at  present,  I 
put  myself  but  on  equal  terms  with  him.  Should  he  cross  me 
again,  I  shall  consider  the  old  accompt  as  balanced,  and  his 
Mastership  will  do  well  to  look  to  himself." 

"  That  he  should,"  re-echoed  Craigengelt;  "for  when  you 
are  in  practise,  Bucklaw,  I  would  bet  a  magnum  you  are  through 
him  before  the  third  pass," 


164  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  of  the  matter,"  said  Bucklaw, 
"  and  you  never  saw  him  fence." 

"  And  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  dependant — - 
"  a  good  jest,  I  promise  you  ! — and  though  I  never  saw  Ravens- 
wood  fence,  have  I  not  been  at  Monsieur  Sagoon's  school,  who 
was  the  first  maitre iV ar7nes  at  Paris;  and  have  I  not  been  at 
Signor  Poco's  at  Florence,  and  Meinheer  Durchstossen's  at 
Vienna,  and  have  I  not  seen  all  their  play  ? " 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  have  or  not,"  said  Bucklaw; 
"  but  what  about  it,  though  you  had  ?  " 

"  Only  that  I  will  be  d — d  if  ever  I  saw  French,  Italian,  or 
High-Dutchman,  ever  make  foot,  hand,  and  eye,  keep  time  half 
so  well  as  you,  Bucklaw." 

"  I  believe  you  lie,  Craigie,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  however,  I  can 
hold  my  own  both  with  single  rapier,  backsword,  sword  and 
dagger,  broadsword,  or  case  of  falchions — and  that's  as  much 
as  any  gentleman  need  know  of  the  matter." 

"  And  the  double  of  what  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred 
know,"  said  Craigengelt ;  "  they  learn  to  change  a  few  thrusts 
with  the  small  sword,  and  then,  forsooth,  they  understand  the 
noble  art  of  defence  !  Now,  when  I  was  at  Rouen  in  the  year 
1695,  there  was  a  Chevalier  de  Chapon  and  I  went  to  the  Opera, 
where  we  found  three  bits  of  English  birkies" 

"  Is  it  a  long  story  you  are  going  to  tell  .■'  "  said  Bucklaw,  in- 
terrupting him  without  ceremony. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  answered  the  parasite,  "for  we  made 
short  work  of  it." 

"Then  I  like  it  short,"  said  Bucklaw;  "  is  it  serious  or 
merry  ?  " 

"  Devilish  serious,  I  assure  you,  and  so  they  found  it  ;  for  the 
Chevalier  and  I  " 

"  Then  I  don't  like  it  at  all,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  so  fill  a  brimmer 
of  my  auld  auntie's  claret,  rest  her  heart  !  And  as  the  Hie- 
landman  says  Skloch  dock  na  skiailir  * 

"  That  was  what  tough  old  Sir  Evan  Dhu  used  to  say  to 
me  when  I  was  out  with  the  metal'd  lads  in  1689.  'Craigen- 
gelt,' he  used  to  say,  '  you  are  as  pretty  a  fellow  as  ever  held 
Bteel  in  his  grip,  but  3'ou  have  one  fault.'  " 

"  If  he  had  known  you  as  long  as  I  have  done,"  said  Buck- 
law,  "  he  would  have  found  out  some  twenty  more  ;  but  hang 
long  stories,  give  us  your  toast,  man." 

Craigengelt  rose,  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  door,  peeped  out, 
shut  it  carefully,  came  back  again — clapped  his  tarnished  gold 

*  "Cut  a  drink  with  a  tale  ;  "   equivalent  to  the  English  adage  of  boon 
companions,  "  Don't  preach  over  your  liquor." 


THE  BRIDE  OE  LAMMERMOOR. 


Tt^S 


laced  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  took  his  glass  in  one  hand, 
and  touching  the  hilt  of  his  hanger  with  the  other,  named, 
"  The  King  over  the  water." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Captain  Craigengelt,"  said  Bucklaw ; 
"  I  shall  keep  my  mind  to  myself  on  these  subjects,  having  too 
much  respect  for  the  memory  of  my  venerable  aunt  Girnington 
to  put  her  lands  and  tenements  in  the  way  of  committing 
treason  against  established  authority.  Bring  me  King  James 
to  Edinburgh,  Captain,  with  thirty  thousand  men  at  his  back, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  about  his  title;  but  as  for  run- 
ning my  neck  into  a  noose,  and  my  good  broad  lands  into  the 
statutory  penalties  'in  that  case  made  and  provided,'  rely  upon 
it,  you  will  find  me  no  such  fool.  So,  when  you  mean  to  vapor 
with  your  hanger  and  your  dram-cup  in  support  of  treasonable 
toasts,  you  must  find  your  liquor  and  company  elsewhere." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  name  the  toast  yourself, 
and  be  it  what  it  like,  I'll  pledge  you,  were  it  a  mile  to  the 
bottom." 

"And  I'll  give  you  a  toast  that  deserves  it,  my  boy,"  said 
Bucklaw  ;  "  what  say  you  to  Miss  Lucy  Ashton  ?  " 

"  Up  with  it,"  said  the  Captain,  as  he  tossed  off  his  brim- 
mer, "  the  bonniest  lass  in  Lothian.  What  a  pity  the  old  sneck- 
drawing  whigamore,  her  father,  is  about  to  throw  her  away 
upon  that  rag  of  pride  and  beggary,  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  !  " 

"  That's  not  quite  so  clear,"  said  Bucklaw,  in  a  tone  which, 
though  it  seemed  indifferent,  excited  his  companion's  eager 
curiosity  ;  and  not  that  only,  but  also  his  hope  of  working  him- 
self into  some  sort  of  confidence,  which  might  make  him 
necessary  to  his  patron,  being  by  no  means  satisfied  to  rest  on 
mere  sufferance,  if  he  could  form  by  art  or  industry  a  more 
permanent  title  to  his  favor. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  that  was  a 
settled  matter — they  are  continually  together,  and  nothing  else 
is  spoken  of  betwixt  Lammerlaw  and  Taprain." 

•'  They  may  say  what  they  please,"  replied  his  patron,  "  but 
I  know  better  ;  and  I'll  give  you  Miss  Lucy  Ashton's  health 
again,  my  boy.'' 

"  And  I  would  drink  it  on  my  knee,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  if 
I  thought  the  girl  had  the  spirit  to  jilt  that  d — d  son  of  a 
Spaniard." 

"  I  am  to  request  you  will  not  use  the  word  jilt  and  Miss 
Ashton's  name  together,"  said  Bucklaw,  gravely. 

"  Jilt,  did  I  say  ? — discard,  my  lad  of  acres — by  JpvjC,  I 
meant  to  say  discard,"  replied  Craigengelt ;  "  and  I  Iiope  she'll 


1 66  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

discard  him  like  a  small  card  at  piquet,  and  take  in  the  King  of 
Hearts,  my  boy  ! — But  yet  " 

"  But  what  ? ''  said  his  patron. 

"  But  yet  I  know  for  certain  they  are  hours  together  alone, 
and  in  the  woods  and  the  fields." 

"  That's  her  foolish  father's  dotage — that  will  be  soon  put 
out  of  the  lass's  head,  if  it  ever  gets  into  it,"  answered  Buck 
law.  "And  now  fill  your  glass  again,  Captain,  I  am  going  to 
make  you  happy — I  am  going  to  let  you  into  a  secret — a  plot 
— a  noosing  plot — only  the  noose  is  but  typical." 

"A  marrying  matter?"  said  Craigengelt,  and  his  jaw  fell  as 
he  asked  the  question ;  for  he  suspected  that  matrimony  would 
render  his  situation  at  Girnington  much  more  precarious  than 
during  the  jolly  days  of  his  patron's  bachelorhood. 

"Ay,  a  marriage,  man,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  but  wherefore  droops 
thy  mighty  spirit,  and  why  grow  the  rubies  on  thy  cheek  so 
pale  ."*  The  board  will  have  a  corner,  and  the  corner  will 
have  a  trencher,  and  the  trencher  will  have  a  glass  beside  it ; 
and  the  board-end  shall  be  filled,  and  the  trencher  and  the 
glass  shall  be  replenished  for  thee,  if  all  the  petticoats  in 
Lothian  had  sworn  the  contrary — What,  man  !  I  am  not  the  boy 
to  put  myself  into  leading-strings  ? " 

"  So  says  many  an  honest  fellow,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  and 
some  of  my  special  friends  ;  but,  curse  me  if  I  know  the  reason, 
the  women  could  never  bear  me,  and  always  contrived  to  trun- 
dle me  out  of  favor  before  the  honeymoon  was  over." 

"  If  you  could  have  kept  your  ground  till  that  was  over, 
you  might  have  made  a  good  year's  pension,"  said  Bucklaw. 

"  But  I  never  could,"  answered  the  dejected  parasite  ; 
**  there  was  my  Lord  Castle-Cuddy — we  were  hand  and  glove — 
I  rode  his  horses — borrowed  money,  both  for  him  and  from  him 
— trained  his  hawks,  and  taught  him  how  to  lay  his  bets ;  and 
when  he  took  a  fancy  of  marrying,  I  married  him  to  Katie  Glegg, 
whom  I  thought  myself  as  sure  of  as  man  could  be  of  woman. 
Egad,  she  had  me  out  of  the  house,  as  if  I  had  run  on  wheels, 
within  the  first  fortnight  !  " 

"  Well  !  "  replied  Bucklaw,  "  I  think  I  have  nothing  of 
Castle-Cuddy  about  me,  or  Lucy  of  Katie  Glegg.  But  you  see 
the  thing  will  go  on  whether  you  like  it  or  no — the  only  question 
is,  will  you  be  useful  ?  " 

"  Useful !  "  exclaimed  the  Captain  ; — "  and  to  thee,  my  lad 
of  lands,  my  darling  boy,  whom  I  would  tramp  barefooted 
through  the  world  for  ! — name  time,  place,  mode,  and  circum- 
stances, and  see  if  I  will  not  be  useful  in  all  uses  that  can  be 
devised." 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  167 

"  Why  then,  you  must  ride  two  hundred  miles  for  me,"  said 
the  patron. 

"A  thousand,  and  call  them  a  flea's  leap,"  answered  the 
dependant ;  "  I'll  cause  saddle  my  horse  directly." 

"  Better  stay  till  you  know  where  you  are  to  go,  and  what 
you  are  to  do,"  quoth  Bucklaw.  "  You  know  I  have  a  kins- 
woman in  Northumberland,  Lady  Blenkensop  by  name,  whose 
old  acquaintance  I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  in  the  period  of 
my  poverty,  but  the  light  of  whose  countenance  shone  forth 
upon  me  when  the  sun  of  my  prosperity  began  to  arise." 

"  D — n  all  such  double-faced  jades  !  "  exclaimed  Craigengelt, 
heroically ;  "  this  I  will  say  for  John  Craigengelt,  that  he  is  his 
friend's  friend  through  good  report  and  bad  report,  poverty  and 
riches  ;  and  you  know  something  of  that  yourself,  Bucklaw." 

"  I  have  not  forgot  your  merits,"  said  his  patron  ;  "  I  do  re- 
member, that,  in  my  extremities,  you  had  a  mind  to  crhnp  me 
for  the  service  of  the  French  king,  or  of  the  Pretender  ;  and, 
moreover,  that  you  afterward  lent  me  a  score  of  pieces,  when, 
as  I  firmly  believe,  you  had  heard  the  news  that  old  Lady  Girn- 
ington  had  a  touch  of  the  dead  palsy.  But  don't  be  downcast, 
John  ;  I  believe,  after  all,  you  like  me  very  well  in  your  way, 
and  it  is  my  misfortune  to  have  no  better  counselor  at  present. 
To  return  to  this  Lady  Blenkensop,  you  must  know  she  is  a 
close  confederate  of  Duchess  Sarah." 

"  What !  of  Sail  Jennings  1  "  exclaimed  Craigengelt ;  "  then 
she  must  be  a  good  one." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  keep  your  Tory  rants  to  yourself, 
if  it  be  possible,"  said  Bucklaw;  "  I  tell  you,  that  through  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough  has  this  Northumbrian  cousin  of  mine 
become  a  crony  of  Lady  Ashton,  the  Keeper's  wife,  or,  I  may 
say,  the  Lord  Keeper's  Lady  Keeper,  and  she  has  favored  Lady 
Blenkensop  with  a  visit  on  her  return  from  London,  and  is  just 
now  at  her  old  mansion-house  on  the  banks  of  the  Wansbeck. 
Now,  sir,  as  it  has  been  the  use  and  wont  of  these  ladies  to  con- 
sider their  husbands  as  of  no  importance  in  the  management  of 
their  own  families,  it  has  been  their  present  pleasure,  without 
consulting  Sir  William  Ashton,  to  put  on  the  tapis  a  matrimonial 
alliance,  to  be  concluded  between  Lucy  Ashton,  and  my  own 
right  honorable  self.  Lady  Ashton  acting  a  self-constituted  pleni- 
potentiary on  the  part  of  her  daughter  and  husband  and  Mother 
Blenkensop,  equally  unaccredited,  doing  me  the  honor  to  be 
my  representative.  You  may  suppose  I  was  a  little  aston- 
ished when  I  found  that  a  treaty,  in  which  I  was  so  consider- 
ably interested,  had  advanced  a  good  way  before  I  was  even 
consulted." 


l68  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOK. 

"  Capo*  me  if  I  think  that  was  according  to  the  rules  oi  the 
game,"  saici  his  confidant ;  "  and  pray,  what  answer  did  you  re- 
turn ? " 

"  Why,  ray  first  thought  was  to  send  the  treaty  to  the  devil, 
and  the  negotiators  along  with  it,  for  a  couple  of  medding  old 
women  ;  my  next  was  to  laugh  very  heartily  ;  and  my  third  and 
last  was  a  settled  opinion  that  the  thing  was  reasonable,  and 
would  suit  me  well  enough." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  had  never  seen  the  wench  but  once — • 
and  then  she  had  her  riding-mask  on — I  am  sure  you  told 
me  so." 

"Ay — but  I  liked  her  very  well  then.  And  Rav«nswood's 
dirty  usage  of  me — shutting  me  out  of  doors  to  dine  with  the 
lackeys,  because  he  had  the  Lord  Keeper,  forsooth,  and  his 
daughter,  to  be  guests  in  his  beggarly  castle  of  starvation — • 
D — n  me,  Craigengelt,  if  I  ever  forgive  him  till  I  play  him  as 
good  a  trick  1  " 

'•  No  more  you  should,  if  you  are  a  lad  of  metal,"  said  Craig- 
engelt, the  matter  now  taking  a  turn  in  which  he  could  sym- 
pathize ,  "  and  if  you  carry  this  wench  from  him,  it  will  break 
his  heart." 

"  That  it  will  not,"  said  Bucklaw ;  "  his  heart  is  all  steeled 
over  with  reason  and  philosophy — things  that  you,  Craigie, 
know  nothing  about  more  than  myself,  God  help  me — But  it 
will  break  his  pride,  though,  and  that's  what  I'm  driving  at. 

"  Distance  me,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  but  I  know  the  reason 
now  of  his  unmannerly  behavior  at  his  old  tumble-down  tower 
yonder — Ashamed  of  your  company  i* — no,  no  ! — Gad,  he  was 
afraid  you  would  cut  in  and  carry  off  the  girl." 

"  Eh  !  Craigengelt  ?  "  said  Bucklaw — "  do  you  really  think 
so  ? — but  no,  no  ! — he  is  a  devilish  deal  prettier  man  that  I 
am. 

"  Who — he  ? "  exclaimed  the  parasite — "  he's  as  black  as 
the  crook  ;  and  for  his  size — he's  a  tall  fellow,  to  be  sure — but 
give  me  a  light,  stout,  middle-sized  " 

"  Plague  on  thee  !  "  said  Bucklaw,  interrupting  him,  "  and 
on  me  for  listening  to  you. — you  would  say  as  much  if  I  were 
hunch-backed.  But  as  to  Ravenswood — he  has  kept  no  terms 
with  me — I'll  keep  none  with  him — if  I  can  win  this  girl  from 
him,  I  will  win  her." 

"  Win  her  ? — 'sblood,  you  shall  \v\x\  her,  point,  quint,  and 
quatorze,  my  king  of  trumps — you  shall  pique,  repique,  and 
capot  him." 

"  Prithee,  stop  thy  gambling  cant  for  one  instant,"  said 
Bucklaw.   "Things  have  come  thus  far,  that  I  have  entertaine<| 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMO'OR.  169  ^-^ 

the  proposal  of  my  kinswoman,  agreed  to  the  terms  of  jointure, 
amount  of  fortune,  and  so  forth,  and  that  the  affair  is  to  go  for- 
ward when  Lady  Ashton  comes  down,  for  she  takes  her  daugh- 
ter and  her  son  in  her  own  hand.  Now  they  want  me  to  send 
up  a  confidential  person  with  some  writings." 

"  By  this  good  wine,  I'll  ride  to  the  end  of  the  world— the 
very  gates  of  Jericho,  and  the  judgment-seat  of  Prester  John, 
for  thee  1  "  ejaculated  the  Captain. 

"  Why,  I  believe  you  would  do  something  for  me,  and  a  great 
deal  for  yourself.  Now,  any  one  could  carry  the  writings  ;  but 
you  will  have  a  little  more  to  do.  You  must  contrive  to  drop 
out  before  my  Lady  Ashton,  just  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  little 
consequence,  the  residence  of  Ravenswood  at  her  husband's 
house,  and  his  close  intercourse  with  Miss  Ashton  ;  and  you 
may  tell  her,  that  all    the    country    talks    of   a  visit  from  the 

Marquis  of  A ,  as  it   is  supposed,   to   make  up  the   match 

betwixt  Ravenswood  and  her  daughter.  I  should  like  to  hear 
what  she  says  to  all  this  ;  for,  rat  me,  if  I  have  any  idea  of 
starting  for  the  plate  at  all,  if  Ravenswood  is  to  win  the  race, 
and  he  has  odds  against  me  already." 

"  Never  a  bit — the  wench  has  too  much  sense — and  in  that 
belief  I  drink  her  health  a  third  time  ;  and,  were  time  and 
place  fitting,  I  would  drink  it  on  bended  knees,  and  he  that 
would  not  pledge  me,  I  would  make  his  guts  garter  his  stock- 
ings." 

"  Hark  ye,  Craigengelt  ;  as  you  are  going  into  the  society 
of  women  of  rank,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  I'll  thank  you  to  forget 
your  strange  blackguard  oaths  and  damme's — I'll  write  to  them, 
though,  that  you  are  a  blunt  untaught  fellow." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  Craigengelt  ;  "  a  plain,  blunt,  honest, 
downright  soldier." 

"  Not  too  honest,  nor  too  much  of  the  soldier  neither  ;  but 
such  as  thou  art,  it  is  my  luck  to  need  thee,  for  I  must  have 
spurs  put  to  Lady  Ashton's  motions." 

"  I'll  dash  them  up  to  the  rowel-heads,"  said  Craigengelt  \ 
"  she  shall  come  here  at  thr  gallop,  like  a  cow  chased  by  a  whole 
nest  of  hornets,  and  her  tail  twisted  over  her  rump  like  a  cork- 
screw. ' 

"  And  hear  ye,  Craigie,''  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  your  boots  and 
doublet  are  good  enough  to  drink  in,  as  the  man  says  in  the 
play,  but  they  are  somewhat  too  greasy  for  tea-table  service — 
prithee,  get  thyself  a  little  better  rigged  out,  and  here  is  to  pay 
all  charges." 

"  Nay,  Bucklaw — on  my  soul,  man — you  use  nae  iU — How- 


,yo  THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM ER  MOOR. 

ever,"  added  Craigengelt,  pocketing  the  money,  "  if  you  will 
have  me  so  far  indebted  to  you,  I  must  be  conforming." 

"  Well,  horse  and  away  ! "  said  the  patron,  "  so  soon  as  you 
have  got  }our  riding  livery  in  trim.  You  may  ride  the  black 
crop-ear — and,  hark  ye,  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  him  to  boot." 

"  I  drink  to  the  good  luck  of  my  mission,"  answered  the 
ambassador,  "  in  a  half-pint  bumper." 

"  I  thank  ye,  Craigie,  and  pledge  you — I  see  nothing  against 
it  but  the  father  or  the  girl  taking  a  tantrum,  and  I  am  told 
the  mother  can  wind  them  both  round  her  little  finger.  Take 
care  not  to  affront  her  with  any  of  your  Jacobite  jargon." 

"  O  ay,  true — she  is  a  whig,  and  a  friend  of  old  Sail  of 
Marlborough — thank  my  stars,  I  can  hoist  any  cokrs  at  a  pinch. 
I  have  fought  as  hard  under  John  Churchill  as  evei  I  did  under 
Dundee  or  the  Duke  of  Berwick." 

"  I  verily  believe  you,  Craigie,"  said  the  lord  of  the  mansion  : 
"  but,  Craigie,  do  you,  pray,  step  down  to  the  cellar,  and 
fetch  us  up  a  bottle  of  the  Burgundy,  1678 — it  is  in  the  fourth 
bin  from  the  right-hand  turn — And  I  say,  Craigie,  you  may 
fetch  up  half-a-dozen  whilst  you  are  about  it — Egad,  we'll, 
make  a   night  on't  1 " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIRST. 

And  soon  they  spied  the  merry-men  green, 
And  eke  the  coach  and  four. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 

Craigengelt  set  forth  on  his  mission  so  soon  as  his  equi- 
page was  complete,  prosecuted  his  journey  with  all  diligence, 
and  accomplished  his  commission  with  all  the  dexterity  for 
which  Bucklaw  had  given  him  credit.  As  he  arrived  with 
credentials  from  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  he  was  extremely 
welcome  to  both  ladies ;  and  those  who  are  prejudiced  in 
favor  of  a  new  acquaintance  can,  for  a  time  at  least,  discover 
excellencies  in  his  very  faults,  and  perfections  in  his  deficien- 
cies. Although  both  ladies  were  accustomed  to  good  society, 
yet,  being  predetermined  to  find  out  an  agreeable  and  well 
behaved  gentleman  in  Mr.  Hayston's  friend,  they  succeeded 
wonderfully  in  imposing  on  themselves.  It  is  true  that  Craig- 
engelt was  now  handsomely  dressed,  and  that  was  a  point  of  no 
small  consequence.  But,  independent  of  outward  show,  black- 
guard impudence  of  address  was  construed   into  honorable 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


171 


Wuntness,  becoming  his  supposed  military  profession  ;  his 
hectoring  passed  for  courage,  and  his  sauciness  for  wit.  Lest, 
however,  any  one  should  think  this  a  violation  of  probability, 
we  must  add,  in  fairness  to  the  two  ladies,  that  their  dis- 
cernment was  greatly  blinded,  and  their  favor  propitiated,  by 
the  opportune  arrival  of  Captain  Craigengelt  in  the  moment 
when  they  were  longing  for  a  third  hand  to  make  a  party  a^ 
tredrille,  in  which,  as  in  all  games,  whether  of  chance  or  skill, 
that  worthy  person  was  a  great  proficient. 

When  he  found  himself  established  in  favor,  his  next  point 
was  how  best  to  use  it  for  the  futherance  of  his  patron's  views. 
He  found  Lady  Ashton  prepossessed  strongly  in  favor  of  the 
motion,  which  Lady  Blenkensop,  partly  from  regard  to  her 
kinsman,  partly  from  the  spirit  of  match-making,  had  not  hesi- 
tated to  propose  to  her  ;  so  that  his  task  was  an  easy  one.  Buck- 
law,  reformed  from  his  prodigalit}^,  was  just  the  sort  of  husband 
which  she  desired  to  have  for  her  Shepherdess  of  Lammer- 
moor;  and  while  the  marriage  gave  her  aiTeasy  lortune,  and  a 
respectable  country  gentleman  for  her  husband,  Lady  Ashton 
was  of  opinion  that  her'destinies  would  be  fully  and  most  favor- 
ably accomplished.  It  so  chanced,  also,  that  Bucklaw,  among 
his  new  acquisitions,  had  gained  the  management  of  a  little 
political  interest  in  a  neighboring  county,  where  the  Douglas 
family  originally  held  large  possessions.  It  was  one  of  the 
bosom-hopes  of  Lady  Ashton,  that  her  eldest  son  Sholto,  should 
represent  this  county  in  the  British  Parliament,  and  she  saw 
this  alliance  with  Bucklaw  as  a  circumstance  which  might  be 
highly  favorable  to  her  wishes. 

Craigengelt,  who  in  his  way  by  no  means  wanted  sagacity, 
no  sooner  discovered  in  what  quarter  the  wind  of  Lady  Ashton's 
wishes  sate,  than  he  trimmed  his  course  accordingly.  "  There 
was  little  to  prevent  Bucklaw  himself  from  sitting  for  the 
county — he  must  carry  the  heat — must  walk  the  course.  Two 
cousins-german — six  more  distant  kinsmen,  his  factor  and  his 
chamberlain,  were  all  hollow  votes — and  the  Girnington  inter- 
est had  always  carried,  betwixt  love  and  fear,  about  as  many 
more.  But  Bucklaw  cared  no  more  about  riding  the  first  horse, 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  than  he,  Craigengelt,  did  about  a  game 
at  birkie — it  was  a  pity  his  interest  was  not  in  good  guidance." 

All  this  Lady  Ashton  drank  in  with  willing  and  attentive 
ears,  resolving  internally  to  be  herself  the  person  who  should 
take  the  management  of  the  political  influence  of  her  destmed 
son-in-law,  for  the  benefit  of  her  eldest  born,  Sholto,  and  all 
other  parties  concerned. 

When  he  found  her  ladyship  thus  favorably  disposed,  the 


tji 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


Captain  proceeded,  to  use  his  employer's  phase,  to  set  spurs  to 
her  resolution,  by  hinting  at  the  situation  of  matters  at  Ravens- 
wood  Castle,  the  long  residence  which  the  heir  of  that  family 
had  made  with  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  the  reports  which  (though 
he  would  be  d — d  ere  he  gave  credit  to  any  of  them)  had  been 
idly  circulated  in  the  neighborhood.  It  was  not  the  Captain's 
cue  to  appear  hunself  to  be  uneasy  on  the  subject  of  these 
rumors  ;  but  he  easily  saw  from  Lady  Ashton's  flushed  cheek, 
hesitating  voice,  and  flashing  eyes,  that  she  had  caught  the 
alarm  which  he  intended  to  communicate.  She  had  not  heard 
from  her  husband  so  often  or  so  regularly  as  she  thought  him 
bound  in  duty  to  have  written,  and  of  this  very  interesting  in- 
telligence, concerning  his  visit  to  the  Tower  of  Wolf's  Crag, 
and  the  guest  whom,  with  such  cordiality,  he  had  received  at 
Ravenswood  Castle,  he  had  suffered  his  lady  to  remain  alto- 
gether ignorant,  until  she  now  learned  it  by  the  chance  infor- 
mation of  a  stranger.  Such  concealment  approached,  in  her 
apprehension,  to  a  misprision,  at  least,  of  treason,  if  not  to 
actual  rebellion  against  her  matrimonial  authority,  and  in  her 
inward  soul  did  she  vow  to  take  vengeance  on  the  Lord  Keeper, 
as  on  a  subject  detected  in  meditating  re\olt  Her  indigna- 
tion burned  the  more  fiercely,  as  she  found  herself  obliged  to 
suppress  it  in  presence  of  Lady  Blenkensop,  kinswoman,  and  of 
Craigengelt,  the  confidential  friend  of  Bucklaw,  of  whose  al- 
liance she  now  became  trebly  desirous,  since  it  occurred  to  her 
alarmed  imagination,  that  her  husband  might,  in  his  policy  or 
timidity,  prefer  that  of  Ravenswood. 

Tire  Captain  was  engineer  enough  to  discover  that  the  train 
was  fired  ;  and  therefore  heard  in  the  course  of  the  same  day, 
without  the  least  surprise  that  Lady  Ashton  had  resolved  to 
abridge  her  visit  to  Lady  Blenkensop,  and  set  forth  with  the 
peep  of  morning  on  her  return  to  Scotland,  using  all  the  de- 
spatch which  the  state  of  the  roads,  and  the  mode  of  traveling, 
would  possibly  permit. 

Unhappy  Lord  Keeper  ! — little  was  he  aware  what  a  storm- 
was  traveling  toward  him  in  all  the  speed  with  which  an  old- 
fashioned  coach  and  six  could  possibly  achieve  its  journey.  He, 
like   Don  Gayferos,  "  forgot  his   lady  fair  and  true,"  and  was 

only  anxious  about  the   expected  visit  of  the  Marquis  of  A . 

Soothfast  tidings  had  assured  him  that  this  nobleman  was  at 
length,  and  without  fail,  to  honor  his  castle  at  one  in  the 
afternoon,  bi  ing  a  late  dinner-hour,  and  much  was  the  bustle 
in  consequence  of  the  annunciation.  The  Lord  Keeper  tra- 
versed the  chambers,  held  consultation  with  the  butler  in  the 
cellars,  and  even  ventured,  at  the  risk  of  a  demiU  with  a  cook, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  jyj 

of  a  spirit  lofty  enough  to  scorn  the  admonitions  of  Lady  Ash- 
ton  herself,  to  peep  into  the  kitchen.  Satisfied,  at  length,  that 
everything  was  in  as  active  a  train  of  preparation  as  was  pos- 
sible, he  summoned  Ravenswood  and  his  daughter  to  walk  upon 
the  terrace,  for  the  purpose  of  watching  from  that  commandii.g 
position,  the  earliest  symptoms  of  his  lordship's  approach,  Foi 
this  purpose,  with  slow  and  idle  step  he  paraded  the  terrace, 
which,  flanked  with  a  heavy  stone  battlement,  stretched  in 
front  of  the  castle  upon  a  level  with  the  first  storey ;  while 
visitors  found  access  to  the  court  by  a  projecting  gateway,  the 
bartisan  or  flat-leaded  roof  of  which  was  accessible  from  the 
terrace  by  an  easy  flight  of  low  and  broad  steps.  The  whole 
bore  a  resemblance  partly,  to  a  castle,  partly  to  a  nobleman's 
seat ;  and  though  calculated,  in  some  respects,  for  defence, 
evinced  that  it  had  been  constructed  under  a  sense  of  the  power 
and  security  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Ravenswood. 

This  pleasant  walk  commanded  a  beautiful  and  extensive 
view.  But  what  was  most  to  our  present  purpose,  there  were 
seen  from  the  terrace  two  roads,  one  leading  from  the  east  and 
one  from  the  westward,  which  crossing  a  ridge  opposed  to  the 
eminence  on  which  the  castle  stood,  at  different  angles,  grad 
ually  approached  each  other,  until  they  joined  not  far  fron 
the  gate  of  the  avenue.  It  was  to  the  westward  approach  ihal 
the  Lord  Keeper,  from  a  sort  ol  fidgeting  anxiety,  his  daughter, 
from  complaisance  to  him,  and  Ravenswood,  though  feeling  some 
symptoms  of  internal  impatience,  out  of  complaisance  to  his 
daughter,  directed  their  eyes  to  see  the  precursors  of  the  Mar- 
quis's approach. 

These  were  not  long  of  presenting  themselves.  Two  run- 
ning footmen,  dressed  in  while,  with  black  jockey-caps,  ano 
long  stafifs  in  their  hands,  headed  the  train  ;  and  such  was  theii 
agility,  that  they  found  no  difficulty  in  keeping  the  necessar} 
advance  which  the  etiquette  of  their  station  required,  before  the 
carriage  and  horsemen.  Onward  they  came  at  a  long  swinging 
trot,  arguing  unwearied  speed  in  their  long-breathed  calling 
Such  running  footmen  are  often  alluded  to  in  old  plays  (1 
would  particularly  instance  "  Middleton's  Mad  World,  m) 
Master  "),  and  perhaps  may  be  still  remembered  by  some  olc 
persons  in  Scotland,  as  part  of  the  retinue  of  the  ancieni 
nobility  when  traveling  in  full  ceremony.*  Behind  these 
glancing  meteors,  who  footed  it  as  if  the  Avenger  of  Blood 
had  been  behind  them,  came  a  cloud  of  dust,  raised  by  riders 
who  preceded,  attended,  or  followed,  the  state-carriage  of  tho 
Marquis. 

*  Note  I.     Running  Footmeti. 


jy  .  THE  BRIDE  OF  LA  MM ER MOOR. 

The  privilege  of  nobility,  in  those  days,  had  something  in  n 
impressive  on  the  imagination.  The  dresses  and  liveries,  and 
number  of  their  attendants,  their  style  of  traveling,  the  impos- 
ing, and  almost  warlike  air  of  the  armed  men  who  surrounded 
them,  placed  them  far  above  the  laird,  who  traveled  with  his 
brace  of  footmen  .  and  as  to  rivalry  from  the  mercantile  part 
of  the  community,  these  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  'mi- 
lating  the  state  equipage  of  the  Sovereign.  At  present  1  is 
different ;  and  I  myself,  Peter  Pattieson,  in  a  late  journey  to 
Edmburgh,  had  the  honor,  in  the  mail-coach  phrase,  to  "  change 
a  leg  "  with  a  peer  of  the  realm.  It  was  not  so  in  the  days  of 
which  I  write  ;  and  the  Marquis's  approach,  so  long  expected 
m  vain,  now  took  place  in  the  full  pomp  of  ancient  aristocracy, 
tjir  William  Ashton  was  so  much  interested  in  what  he  beheld 
and  in  considenng  the  ceremonial  of  reception  in  case  any  cir- 
cumstance had  been  omitted,  that  he  scarce  heard  his  son 
Henry  exclaim,  "There is  another  coach  and  six  coming  down 
the  east  road,  papa— can  they  both  belong  to  the  Marquis  of 
A ? " 

At  length,  when  the  youngster  had  fairly  compelled  his 
attention  by  pulling  his  sleeve, 

He  tum'd  his  eyes,  and,  as  he  tum'd,  survey'd 
An  awful  vision 

Sure  enough,  another  coach  and  six,  with  four  servants  or 
out-riders  in  attendance,  was  descending  the  hill  from  the  east- 
ward, at  such  a  pace  as  made  it  doubtful  which  of  the  carriages 
thus  approaching  from  different  quarters  would  first  reach  the 
gate  at  the  extremity  of  the  avenue.  The  one  coach  was  green, 
the  other  blue  ;  and  not  the  green  and  blue  chariots  in  the 
Circus  of  Rome  or  Constantinople  excited  more  turmoil  among 
the  citizens  than  the  double  apparition  occasioned  in  the  mind 
of  the  Lord  Keeper.  We  all  remember  the  terrible  exclamation 
of  the  dying  profligate,  when  a  friend,  to  destroy  what  he  sup- 
posed the  hypochondriac  idea  of  a  spectre  appearing  in  a  cer- 
tain shape  at  a  given  hour,  placed  before  him  a  person  dressed 
up  in  the  manner  he  described.  "■  Afon  Dieii !"  sz\<\  the  ex- 
piring sinner,  who,  it  seems,  saw  both  the  real  and  polygraphia 
apparition — "  il y  en  a  deux!  " 

The  surprise  of  the  Lord  Keeper  was  scarcely  less  unpleas- 
ing  at  the  duplication  of  the  expected  arrival  ;  his  mind  mis- 
gave him  strangely.  There  was  no  neighbor  who  would  have 
approached  so  unceremoniously,  at  a  time  when  ceremony  was 
held  in  such  respect.  It  must  be  Lady  Ashton,  said  his  con 
science,  and  followed  up  the  hint  with  an  anxious  anticipation 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ,ye 

of  the  purpose  of  her  sudden  and  unannounced  return.  He 
felt  that  he  was  caught  "  in  the  manner."  That  the  company 
in  which  she  had  so  unluckily  surprised  him  was  likely  to  be 
highly  distasteful  to  her,  there  was  no  question  ;  and  the  only 
hope  which  remained  for  him  was  her  high  sense  of  dignified 
propriety,  which,  he  trusted,  might  prevent  a  public  explosion. 
But  so  active  were  his  doubts  and  fears,  as  altogether  to  derange 
his  purposed  ceremonial  for  the  reception  of  the  Marquis. 

These  feelings  of  apprehension  were  not  confined  to  Sir 
William  Ashton.  "  It  is  my  mother — it  is  my  mother  !  "  said 
Lucy,  turning  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  clasping  her  hands  to- 
gether as  she  looked  at  Ravenswood. 

"  And  if  it  be  Lady  Ashton,"  said  her  lover  to  her  in  a  low 
tone,  "  what  can  be  the  occasion  of  such  alarm  } — Surely  the 
return  of  a  lady  of  the  family  from  which  she  has  been  so  long 
absent,  should  excite  other  sensations  than  those  of  fear  and 
dismay." 

"  You  do  not  know  my  mother,"  said  Miss  Ashton,  in  a  tone 
almost  breathless  with  terror ;  "  what  will  she  say  when  she 
sees  you  in  this  place  !  " 

"  My  stay  has  been  too  long,"  said  Ravenswood,  somewhat 
haughtily,  "  if  her  displeasure  at  my  presence  is  likely  to  be  so 
formidable.  My  dear  Lucy,"  he  resumed,  in  a  tone  of  sooth-i 
ing  encouragement,  "  you  are  too  childishly  afraid  of  Lady] 
Ashton,  she  is  a  woman  of  family— a  Tady  of  fashion — a  per-; 
son  who  must  know  the  world,  and  what  is  due  to  her  husband 
and  her  husband's  guests." 

Lucy  shook  her  head  ;  and,  as  if  her  mother,  still  at  the 
distance  of  half-a-mile,  could  have  seen  and  scrutinized  her 
deportment,  she  withdrew  herself  from  beside  Ravenswood,  and 
taking  her  brother  Henry's  arm,  led  him  to  a  different  part  of 
the  terrace.  The  Keeper  also  shuffled  down  toward  the  portal 
of  the  great  gate,  without  inviting  Ravenswood  to  accompany 
him,  and  thus  he  remained  standing  alone  on  the  terrace, 
deserted  and  shunned,  as  it  were,  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
mansion. 

This  suited  not  the  mood  of  one  who  was  proud  in  propor- 
tion to  his  poverty,  and  who  thought  that,  in  sacrificing  his 
deep-rooted  sentiments  so  far  as  to  become  Sir  William  Ashton's 
guest,  he  conferred  a  favor  and  received  none.  "  I  can  forgive 
Lucy,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  she  is  young,  timid,  and  conscious 
of  an  important  engagement  assumed  without  her  mother's 
sanction ;  yet  she  should  remember  with  whom  it  has  been  as- 
sumed, and  leave  me  no  reason  to  suspect  that  she  is  ashamed 
of  her  choice.     For  the  Keeper,  sense,  spirit,  and  expression 


jy6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

seem  to  have  left  his  face  and  manner  since  he  had  the  first 
glimpse  of  Lady  Ashton's  carnage.  I  must  watch  how  this  is 
to  end ;  and,  if  they  give  me  reason  to  think  myself  an  un- 
welcome guest,  my  visit  is  soon  abridged." 

With  these  suspicions  floating  on  his  mind,  he  left  the  ter- 
race, and  walking  toward  the  stables  of  the  castle,  gave  direc- 
tions that  his  horse  should  be  kept  in  readiness,  in  case  he 
should  have  occasion  to  ride  abroad. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  drivers  of  the  two  carriages,  the  ap- 
proach of  which  had  occasioned  so  much  dismay  at  the  castle, 
had  become  aware  of  each  other's  presence,  as  they  approached 
upon  different  lines  to  the  head  of  the  avenue,  as  a  common 
centre.  Lady  Ashton's  driver  and  postillions  instantly  received 
orders  to  get  foremost,  if  possible,  her  ladyship  being  desirous 
of  despatching  her  first  interview  with  her  husband  before  the 
arrival  of  these  guests,  whoever  they  might  happen  to  be. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  coachman  of  the  Marquis,  conscious  of 
his  own  dign'ity  and  that  of  his  master,  and  observing  the  rival 
charioteer  was  mending  his  pace,  resolved,  like  a  true  brother 
of  the  whip,  whether  ancient  or  modern,  to  vindicate  his  right 
of  precedence.  So  that,  to  increase  the  confusion  of  the  Lord 
Keeper's  understanding,  he  saw  the  short  time  which  remained 
for  consideration  abridged  by  the  haste  of  the  contending  coach- 
men, who,  fixing  their  eyes  sternly  on  each  other,  and  app4ying 
the  lash  smartly  to  their  horses,  began  to  thunder  down  the 
descent  with  emulous  rapidity,  while  the  horsemen  who  attended 
them  were  forced  to  put  on  to  a  hand-gallop. 

Sir  William's  only  chance  now  remaining  was  the  possl 
bility  of  an  overturn,  and  that  his  lady  or  visitor  might  break 
their  necks.  I  am  not  aware  that  he  formed  any  distinct  wish 
on  the  subject,  but  I  have  no  reason  to  thmk  that  his  grief  in 
either  case  would  have  been  altogether  inconsolable.  This 
chance,  however,  also  disappeared  ;  for  Lady  Ashton,  though 
insensible  to  fear,  began  to  see  the  ridicule  of  running  a  race 
with  a  visitor  of  distinction,  the  goal  being  the  portal  of  her 
own  castle,  and  commanded  her  coachman,  as  they  approached 
the  avenue,  to  slacken  his  pace,  and  allow  precedence  to  the 
stranger's  equipage ;  a  command  which  he  gladly  obeyed,  as 
coming  in  time  to  save  his  honor,  the  horses  of  the  Marquis's 
carriage  being  better,  or,  at  least,  fresher  than  his  own.  He 
restrained  his  pace,  therefore,  and  suffered  the  green  coach  to 
enter  the  avenue,  with  all  its  retinue,  which  pass  it  occupied 
•.vith  the  speed  of  a  whirlwind.  The  Marquis's  laced  charioteer 
no  sooner  found  the/rfj'  d^ ava/iCc  \\3.s  granted  to  him,  than  he 
resumed  a  more  deliberate  pace,  at  which  he  advanced  undej 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMCOR.  lyy 

the  embowering  shade  of  the  lofty  ehiis,  surrounded  by  all  the 
attendants  ;  while  the  carriage  of  Lady  Ashton  followed,  stilJ 
more  slowly,  at  some  distance. 

In  the  front  of  the  castle,  and  beneath  the  portal  which  ad- 
mitted guests  into  the  inner  court,  stood  Sir  William  Ashton, 
much  perplexed  in  mind,  his  younger  son  and  daughter  beside 
him,  and  in  their  rear  a  train  of  attendants  of  various  ranks,  in 
and  out  of  liver}'.  The  nobility  and  gentry  of  Scotland,  at  this 
period,  were  remarkable  even  to  extravagance  for  the  number 
of  their  servants,  whose  services  were  easily  purchased  in  a 
country  where  men  were  numerous  beyond  proportion  to  the 
means  of  employing  them. 

The  manners  of  a  man,  trained  like  Sir  William  Ashton,  are 
too  much  at  his  command  to  remain  long  disconcerted  with  the 
most  adverse  concurrence  of  circumstances.  He  received  the 
Marquis,  as  he  alighted  from  his  equipage,  with  the  usual  com- 
pliments of  welcome  ;  and,  as  he  ushered  him  into  the  great 
hall,  expressed  his  hope  that  his  journey  had  been  pleasant. 
The  Marquis  was  a  tall,  well-made  man,  with  a  thoughtful  and 
intelligent  countenance,  and  an  eye,  in  which  the  fire  of  ambition 
had  for  some  years  replaced  the  vivacity  of  youth  ;  a  bold,  proud 
expression  of  countenance,  yet  chastened  by  habitual  caution, 
and  the  desire  which,  as  the  head  of  a  party,  he  necessarily  en- 
tertained of  acquiring  popularity.  He  answered  with  courtesy 
the  courteous  inquiries  of  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  was  formally 
presented  to  Miss  Ashton,  in  the  course  of  which  ceremony  the 
Lord  Keeper  gave  the  first  symptoms  of  what  was  chiefly  occu- 
pying his  mind,  by  introducing  his  daughter  as  "  his  wife.  Lady 
Ashton." 

Lucy  blushed  ,  the  Marquis  looked  surprised  at  the  ex- 
tremely juvenile  appearance  of  his  hostess,  and  the  Lord  Keeper 
with  difficulty  rallied  himself  so  far  as  to  explain.  "  I  should 
have  said  my  daughter,  my  lord  ,  but  the  truth  is,  that  I  saw 
Lady  Ashton's  carriage  enter  the  avenue  shortly  after  your  lord- 
ship's, and  " 

"Make  no  apology,  my  lord,"  replied  his  noble  guest;  "let 
me  entreat  you  will  wait  on  your  lady,  and  leave  me  to  cultivate 
Miss  Ashton's  acquaintance.  I  am  shocked  my  people  should 
have  taken  precedence  of  our  hostess  at  her  own  gate  ;  but  your 
lordship  is  aware  that  I  supposed  Lady  Ashton  was  still  in  the 
south.  Permit  me  to  beseech  you  will  waive  ceremony,  and 
hasten  to  welcome  her." 

This  was  precisely  what  the  Lord  Keeper  longed  to  do ;  and 
he  instantly  profited  by  his  lordship's  obliging  permission.  To 
gee  Lady  Ashton  and  eacounter  the  first  burst  of  her  displea^ 


jyg  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

lire  in  private,  might  prepare  her,  in  some  degreo,  to  receive 
her  unwelcome  guests  with  due  decorum.  As  her  carriage, 
therefore,  stopped,  the  arm  of  the  attentive  husband  was  ready 
to  assist  Lady  Ashton  in  dismounting.  Looking  as  if  she  saw 
him  not,  she  put  his  arm  aside,  and  requested  that  of  Captain 
Craigengelt,  who  stood  by  the  coach  with  his  laced  hat  under 
his  arm,  having  acted  as  cavalicre  servefite,  or  squire  in  attend- 
ance, during  the  journey.  Taking  hold  of  this  respectable  per- 
son's arm  as  if  to  support  her.  Lady  Ashton  traversed  the  court, 
uttering  a  word  or  two  by  the  way  of  direction  to  the  servants, 
but  not  one  to  Sir  William,  who  in  vain  endeavored  to  attract 
her  attention,  as  he  rather  followed  than  accompanied  her  into 
the  hall,  in  which  they  found  the  Marquis  m  close  conversation 
with  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  :  Lucy  had  taken  the  first  op- 
portunity of  escaping.     There  was    embarrassment    on  every 

countenance  except  that  of  the  Marquis  of  A ;  for  even 

Craigengelt's  impudence  was  hardly  able  to  veil  his  fear  of 
Ravenswood,  and  the  rest  felt  the  awkwardness  of  the  position 
in  which  they  were  thus  unexpectedly  placed. 

After  waiting  a  moment  to  be  presented  by  Sir  William 
Ashton,  the  Marquis  resolved  to  introduce  himself.  "The 
Lord  Keeper,"  he  said,  bowing  to  Lady  Ashton,  "  has  just  in- 
troduced to  me  his  daughter  as  his  wife — he  might  very  easily 
present  Lady  Ashton  as  his  daughter,  so  little  does  she  differ 
from  what  I  remember  her  some  years  since. — Will  she  permit 
an  old  acquaintance  the  privilege  of  a  guest  ?  " 

He  saluted  the  lady  with  too  good  a  grace  to  apprehend  a 
repulse,  and  then  proceeded — "  This,  Lady  Ashton,  is  a  peace- 
making visit,  and  therefore  I  presume  to  introduce  my  cousin, 
the  young  Master  of  Ravenswood,  to  your  favorable  notice." 

Lady  Ashton  could  not  choose  but  courtesy  ;  but  there  V'as 
in  her  obeisance  an  air  of  haughtiness  approaching  to  contemp- 
tuous repulse.  Ravenswood  could  not  choose  but  bow ;  but 
his  manner  returned  the  scorn  with  which  l^e  had  been  greeted. 

"Allow  me,"  she  said,  "to  present  to  your  lordship  my 
friend."  Craigengelt,  with  the  forward  impudence  which  men 
of  his  cast  mistake  for  ease,  made  a  sliding  bow  to  the  Marquis, 
which  he  graced  by  a  flourish  of  his  gold-laced  hat.  The  lady 
turned  to  her  husband — "  Vou  and  I,  Sir  William,"  she  said, 
and  these  were  the  first  words  she  had  addressed  to  him,  "  have 
acquired  new  acquaintances  since  we  parted — let  me  introduce 
the  acquisition  I  have  made  to  mine — Captain  Craigengelt." 

Another  bow,  and  another  flourish  of  the  gold-laced  hat, 
which  was  returned  by  the  Lord  Keeper  without  intimation  of 
former   recognition,  and  with  that  sort  of  anxious  readiness, 


THE  BRIDE    ^F  LAMMERMOOR. 


175 


which  intimated  his  wish,  that  peace  and  amnesty  should  take 
place  betwixt  the  contending  parties,  including  tlie  auxiliaries 
on  both  sides.  "  Let  mc  introduce  you  to  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood,"  said  he  to  Captain  Craigengelt,  following  up  the  same 
amicable  system.  But  the  Master  drew  up  his  tall  form  to  the 
full  extent  of  his  height,  and  without  so  much  as  looking  toward 
the  person  thus  introduced  to  him,  he  said,  in  a  marked  tone^ 
"  Captain  Craigengelt  and  I  are  already  perfectly  well  ac- 
quainted with  each  other." 

"  Perfectly — perfectly,"  replied  the  Captain,  in  a  mumbling 
tone,  like  that  of  a  double  echo,  and  with  a  flourish  of  his  hat, 
the  circumference  of  which  was  greatly  abridged,  compared  with 
those  which  had  so  cordially  graced  his  introduction  to  the 
Marquis  and  the  Lord  Keeper. 

Lockhard,  followed  by  three  menials,  now  entered  with  wine 
and  refreshments,  which  it  was  the  fashion  to  offer  as  a  whet 
before  dinner ;  and  when  they  were  placed  before  the  guests, 
Lady  Ashton  made  an  apology  for  withdrawing  her  husband 
from  them  for  some  minutes  upon  business  of  special  import. 
The  Marquis,  of  course,  requested  her  ladyship  would  lay  her- 
self under  no  restraint ;  and  Craigengelt,  bolting  with  speed  a 
second  glass  of  racy  Canary,  hastened  to  leave  the  room,  feel 
ing  no  great  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  bemg  left  alone  with 

the  Marquis  of  A and   the    Master  of  Ravenswood  ,   the 

presence  of  the  former  holding  him  m  awe,  and  that  of  the 
latter  in  bodily  terror. 

Some  arrangements  about  his  horse  and  baggage  formed 
the  pretext  for  his  sudden  retreat,  in  which  he  persevered,  al- 
though Lady  Ashton  gave  Lockhard  orders  to  be  careful  most 
particularly  to  accommodate  Captain  Craigengelt  with  all  the 
attendance  which  he  could  possibly  require.  The  Marquis  and 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood  were  thus  left  to  communicate  to 
each  other  their  remarks  upon  the  reception  which  they  had  met 
with,  while  Lady  Ashton  led  the  way,  and  her  lord  followed, 
somewhat  like  a  condemned  criminal,  to  her  ladyship's  dressing*-^  . 
room.  '"^fJ- 

So  soon  as  the  spouses  had  both  entered,  her  ladyship  gave  r* 
way  to  that  fierce  audacity  of  temper,  which  she  had  with  diffi- 
culty suppressed,  out  of  respect  to  appearances.  She  shut  the 
door  behind  the  alarmed  Lord  Keeper,  took  the  key  out  of  the 
spring-lock,  and  with  a  countenance  which  yean  had  not  bereft 
of  its  haughty  charms,  and  eyes  which  spoke  at  once  resolution 
and  resentment,  she  addressed  her  astounded  husl^and  in  these 
words  : — "  My  lord,  I  am  not  greatly  surprised  at  the  connec- 
tions you  have  been  pleased  to  form  during  my  absence — they 


l8o  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

are  entirely  in  conformity  with  your  birth  and  breeding  ;  and  if 
I  did  expect  anything  else,  I  heartily  own  my  error,  and  that  1 
merit,  by  having  done  so,  the  disappointment  you  had  prepared 
for  me." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Ashton — my  dear  Eleanor,"  said  the  Lord 
Keeper,  "  listen  to  reason  for  a  moment,  and  I  will  convince 
you  1  have  acted  with  all  the  regard  due  to  the  dignity,  as  well 
as  the  interest,  of  my  family." 

"To  the  interest  of  jY^//r  family  I  conceive  you  perfectly 
capable  of  attending,"  returned  the  indignant  lady,  "  and  even 
to  the  dignity  of  your  own  family  also,  as  far  as  it  requires  any 
looking  after — But  as  mine  happens  to  be  inextricably  involved 
with  it,  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  choose  to  give  my  own  attention 
so  far  as  that  is  concerned." 

"  What  would  you  have.  Lady  Ashton  ? "  said  the  husband 
— "  What  is  it  that  displeases  you  ?  Why  is  it  that,  on  your  re- 
turn after  so  long  an  absence,  I  am  arraigned  in  this  manner  .?  " 

"  Ask  your  own  conscience.  Sir  William,  what  has  prompted 
you  to  become  a  renegade  to  your  political  party  and  opin- 
ions,  and  led  you,  for  what  I  know,  to  be  on  the  point  of  marry- 
ing your  only  daughter  to  a  beggarly  Jacobite  bankrupt,  the 
inveterate  enemy  of  your  family  to  the  boot." 

"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  and  civility, 
would  you  have  me  do,  madam  .-'  "  answered  her  husband — "  Is 
it  possible  for  me,  v'^'ith  ordinary  decency,  to  turn  a  young  gentle- 
man out  of  my  house,  w  ho  saved  my  daughter's  life  and  my  own, 
but  the  other  morning  as  it  w^ere  ?  " 

"  Saved  your  life  !  I  have  heard  of  that  story,"  said  the 
lady — "  the  Lord  Keeper  was  scared  by  a  dun  cow,  and  he 
takes  the  young  fellow  who  killed  her  for  Guy  of  Warwick^ 
any  butcher  from  Haddington  may  soon  have  an  equal  claim 
on  your  hosDitality." 

"  Lady  Ashton,"  stammered  the  Keeper,  "  this  is  intolerable 
— and  when  I  am  desirous,  too,  to  make  you  easy  by  any  sacri- 
fice— if  you  would  but  tell  me  what  you  would  be  at." 

"Go  down  to  your  guests,"  said  the  imperious  dame,  "and 
make  your  apology  to  Ravenswood,  that  the  arrival  of  Captain 
Craigengelt  and  some  other  friends,  renders  it  impossible  foi 
you  to  offer  him  lodgings  at  the  castle — I  expect  young  Mr. 
Hayst.  n   )f  Bucklaw." 

"Good  heavens,  madam !"  ejaculated  her  husband — "Ra- 
venswood to  give  place  to  Craigengelt,  a  common  gambler 
and  an  informer  ! — It  was  all  I  could  do  to  forbear  desiring 
the  fellow  to  get  out  of  my  house,  and  I  was  much  surprised  to 
see  him  in  your  ladyship's  train." 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  igi 

"  Since  you  saw  him  there,  you  might  be  well  assured,"  an- 
swered this  meek  helpmate,  "  that  he  was  proper  society.  As 
to  this  Ravenswood,  he  only  meets  with  the  treatment  which, 
to  my  certain  knowledge,  he  gave  to  a  much-valued  friend  of 
mine,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  his  guest  some  time  since. 
But  take  your  resolution  ;  for,  if  Ravenswood  does  not  quit  the 
house,  I  will."' 

Sir  William  Ashton  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment  in 
the  most  distressing  agitation  ;  fear,  and  shame,  and  anger,  con- 
tending against  the  habitual  deference  he  was  in  the  use  of 
rendering  to  his  lady.  At  length  it  ended,  as  is  usual  with  timid 
minds  placed  in  such  circumstances,  in  his  adopting  a  mezzo  tcr- 
mine,  a  middle  measure. 

"I  tell  you  frankly,  madam,  I  neither  can  nor  will  be  guilty 
of  the  incivility  you  propose  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood — he 
has  not  deserved  it  at  my  hand.  If  you  will  be  so  unreasonable 
as  to  insult  a  man  of  quality  under  your  own  roof,  I  cannot  pre- 
vent you  ;  but  I  will  not  at  least  be  the  agent  in  such  a  prepos- 
terous proceeding." 

*'  You  will  not .''  "  asked  the  lady. 

"  No,  by  heavens,  madam  I  "  her  husband  replied ;  "  ask  me 
anything  congruent  with  common  decency,  as  to  drop  his 
acquaintance  by  degrees,  or  the  like — but  to  bid  him  leave  my 
house  is  what  I  will  not,  and  cannot  consent  to." 

"  Then  the  task  of  supporting  the  honor  of  the  family  will 
fall  on  me,  as  it  has  often  done  before,"  said  the  lady. 

She  sat  down,  and  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines.  The  Lord 
Keeper  made  another  effort  to  prevent  her  taking  a  step  so 
decisive,  just  as  she  opened  the  door  to  call  her  female  attendant 
from  the  anteroom.  "  Think  what  you  are  doing,  Lady  Ashton 
— you  are  making  a  mortal  enemy  of  a  young  man,  who  is  like 
to  have  the  means  of  harming  us  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  Douglas  who  feared  an  enemy  ?  ' 
answered  the  lady  contemptuously. 

"  Ay,  but  he  is  as  proud  and  vindictive  as  a  hundred  Doug- 
lases, and  a  hundred  devils  to  boot.  Think  of  it  for  a  night 
only." 

"  Not  for  another  moment,"  answered  the  lady  ; — "  here, 
Mrs.  PatuUo,  give  this  billet  to  young  Ravenswood." 

"  To  the  Master,  madam  1  "  said  Mrs.  Patullo. 

"Ay,  to  the  Master,  if  you  call  him  so." 

"  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  entirely,"  said  the  Keeper ,  "  and  I 
shall  go  down  into  the  garden,  and  see  that  Jardine  gathers  the 
fvinter  fruit  for  the  dessert." 

*'  Do  so,"  said  the  lady,  looking  after  him  with  glances  of 


1 82  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

'infinite  contempt  :  "  and  thank  God  that  you  leave  one  behind 
yot:  as  fit  to  protect  the  honor  of  the  family,  as  you  are  to  look 
after  pippins  and  pears." 

The  Lord  Keeper  remained  long  enough  in  the  garden  to 
give  her  Ladyship's  mind  time  to  explode,  and  to  let,  as  he 
thought,  at  least  the  first  violence  of  Ravenswood's  displeasure 
blow  over.     When  he  entered  the  hall,  he  found  the  ALirquis 

of  A giving  orders  to  some  of  his  attendants.     He  seemed 

in  high  displeasure,  and  interrupted  an  apology  which  Sii 
William  had  commenced,  for  having  left  his  lordship  alone. 

"  I  presume,  Sir  William,  you  are  no  stranger  to  this  singular 
billet  with  which  my  kinsman  of  Ravenswood  "  (an  emphasis  on 
the  word  my)  "has  been  favored  by  your  lady — and,  of  course, 
that  you  are  prepared  to  receive  my  adieus — My  kinsman  is 
already  gone,  having  thought  it  unnecessar}'  to  offer  any  on  his 
part,  since  all  former  civilities  had  been  canceled  by  this  singular 
insult." 

"  I  protest,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  William,  holding  the  billet  in 
his  hand,  "  I  am  not  privy  to  the  contents  of  this  letter.  I 
know  Lady  Ashton  is  a  warm-tempered  and  prejudiced  woman, 
and  I  am  sincerely  sorry  for  any  offence  that  has  been  given  ot 
taken  ;  but  I  hope  your  Lordship  will  consider  that  a  lady  " ■ 

"  Should  bear  herself  toward  persons  of  a  certain  rank  with 
the  breeding  of  one,"  said  the  Marquis,  completing  the  half- 
uttered  sentence. 

"  True,  my  lord,"  said  the  unfortunate  Keeper ;  "  but  Lady 
Ashton  is  still  a  woman  " 

"  And  as  such,  methinks,"  said  the  Marquis,  again  interrupt- 
ing him,  "  should  be  taught  the  duties  which  correspond  to  her 
station.  Rut  here  she  comes,  and  I  will  learn  from  her  own 
mouth  the  reason  of  this  extraordinary  and  unexpected  affront 
offered  to  my  near  relation,  while  both  he  and  I  were  her  lady- 
ship's guests. 

Lady  Ashton  accordingly  entered  the  appartment  at  this 
moment.  Her  dispute  with  Sir  William,  and  a  subsequent 
interview  with  her  daughter,  had  not  prevented  her  from  attend- 
ing to  the  duties  of  her  toilette.  She  appeared  in  full  dress, 
and,  from  the  character  of  her  countenance  and  manner,  well 
became  the  splendor  with  which  ladies  of  quality  then  appeared 
on  such  occasions. 

The  Marquis  of  A bowed  haughtily,  and  she  returned 

the  salute  with  equal  pride  and  distance  of  demeanor.  He 
then  took  from  the  passive  hand  of  Sir  William  Ashton  the 
billet  he  had  given  him  the  moment  before  he  approached  the 
*ady,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  she  interrupted  him.     "  \ 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  183 

perceive,  my  lord,  you  are  about  to  enter  upon  an  unpleasant 
subject.  I  am  sorry  any  such  should  have  occurred  at  this 
time,  to  interrupt,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  respectful  recep- 
tion due  to  your  lordship — but  so  it  is. — Mr.  Edgar  Ravens- 
wood,  for  whom  I  have  addressed  the  billet  in  your  lordship's 
hand,  has  abused  the  hospitality  of  this  family,  and  Sir  William 
Ashton's  softness  of  temper,  in  order  to  seduce  a  young  person 
into  engagements  without  her  parents'  consent,  and  of  which 
they  never  can  approve." 

Both  gentlemen  answered  at  once, — ''My  kinsman  is  in- 
capable " said  the  Lord  Marquis. 

"  I  am  confident  that  my  daughter  Lucy  is  still  more  in- 
capable " said  the  Lord  Keeper. 

Lady  Ashton  at  once  interrupted,  and  replied  to  them  both. 
— "  My  Lord  Marquis,  your  kinsman,  if  Mr.  Ravenswood  has 
Ihe  honor  to  be  so,  has  made  the  attempt  privately  to  secure 
the  affections  of  this  young  and  inexperienced  girl.  Sir  William 
Ashton,  your  daughter  has  been  simple  enough  to  give  more 
encouragement  than  she  ought  to  have  done  to  so  very  improper 
a  suitor." 

"  And  I  think,  madam,"  said  the  Lord  Keeper,  losing  his 
accustomed  temper  and  patience,  "  that  if  you  had  nothing 
better  to  tell  us,  you  had  better  have  kept  this  family  secret  to 
yourself  also." 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  Sir  William,"  said  the  lady,  calmly  ; 
"  the  noble  Marquis  has  the  right  to  know  the  cause  of  the  treat- 
ment I  have  found  it  necessary  to  use  to  a  gentleman  whom  he 
calls  his  blood-relation." 

"  It  is  a  cause,"  muttered  the  Lord  Keeper,  "  which  has 
emerged  since  the  effect  has  taken  place  ;  for  if  it  exists  at  all, 
I  am  sure  she  knew  nothing  of  it  when  her  letter  to  Ravenswood 
was  written. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  heard  of  this,"  said  the 
Marquis  ;  "  but  since  your  ladyship  has  tabled  a  subject  so  deli- 
cate, permit  me  to  say,  that  my  kinsman's  birth  and  connections 
entitled  him  to  a  patient  hearing,  and  at  least  a  civil  refusal, 
even  in  case  of  his  being  so  ambitious  as  to  raise  his  eyes  to  the 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Ashton," 

"  You  will  recollect,  my  lord,  of  what  blood  Miss  Lucy  Ash- 
ton is  come  by  the  mother's  side,"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  do  remember  your  descent — from  a  younger  branch  of 
the  house  of  Angus,"  said  the  Marquis — "  and  your  ladyship — 
forgive  me,  lady — ought  not  to  forget  that  the  Ravenswoods 
have  thrice  intermarried  with  the  main  stem.  Come,  madam 
—I  know  how  matters  stand— old  and  long  fostered  prejudices 


l84  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

an  difficult  to  get  over — I  make  every  allowance  for  them — 1 
ought  not,  and  I  would  not  otherwise  have  suffered  my  kinsman 
to  depart  alone,  expelled,  in  a  manner,  from  this  house — but  I 
had  hopes  of  being  a  mediator.  I  am  still  unwilling  to  leave 
you  in  anger — and  shall  not  set  forward  until  after  noon,  as  I 
rejoin  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  upon  the  road  a  few  miles 
from  hence.     Let  us  talk  over  this  matter  more  coolly." 

"  It  is  what  I  anxiously  desire,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  William 
Ashton  eagerly.     "  Lady  Ashton,  we  will  not  permit  my  Lord 

of  A to  leave  us  in  displeasure.     We  must  compel  him  to 

tarry  dinner  at  the  castle." 

"  The  castle,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  all  that  it  contains,  are  at 
the  command  of  the  Marquis,  so  long  as  he  chooses  to  honor  it 
with  his  residence  ;  but  touching  the  further  discussion  of  this 
disagreeable  topic  " 

"  Pardon  me,  good  madam,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  but  I  can- 
not allow  you  to  express  any  hasty  resolution  on  a  subject  so 
important.  I  see  that  more  company  is  arriving  ;  and  since  I 
have  the  good  fortune  to  renew  my  former  acquaintance  with 
Lady  Ashton,  I  hope  she  will  give  me  leave  to  avoid  periling 
what  I  prize  so  highly  upon  any  disagreeable  subject  of  discus- 
sion— at  least,  till  we  have  talked  over  more  pleasant  topics." 

The  lady  smiled,  courtesied,  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  Mar- 
quis, by  whom,  with  all  the  formal  gallantry  of  the  time,  which 
\did  not  permit  the  guest  to  tuck  the  lady  of  the  house  under 
the  arm,  as  a  rustic  does  his  sweetheart  at  a  wake,   she   was 
ushered  to  the  eating-room. 

Here  they  were  joined  by  Bucklaw,  Craigengelt,  and  other 
neighbors  whom  the   Lord  Keeper  had  previously  invited  to 

meet  the  Marquis  of  A .     An    apology,    founded   upon    a 

slight  indisposition,  was  alleged  as  an  excuse  for  the  absence 
of  Miss  Ashton,  whose  seat  appeared  unoccupied.  The  enter- 
tainment was  splendid  to  profusion,  and  was  protracted  till  a 
'ate  hour. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  ig^ 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SECOND. 

Such  was  our  fallen  father's  fate, 

Yet  better  than  mine  own  ; 
He  shared  his  exile  with  his  mate, 

I'm  banish'd  forth  alone. 

Waller. 

I  WILL  not  attempt  to  describe  the  mixture  of  indignation 
and  regret  with  which  Ravenswood  left  the  seat  which  had 
belonged  to  his  ancestors.  The  terms  in  which  Lady  Ashton's 
billet  was  couched  rendered  it  impossible  for  him,  without  being 
deficient  in  that  spiiit  of  which  he  perhaps  had  too  much,  to 
remain  an  instant  longer  within  its  walls.  The  Marquis,  who 
had  his  share  in  the  affront,  was,  nevertheless,  still  willing  to 
make  some  efforts  at  conciliation.  He  therefore  suffered  his 
kinsman  to  depart  alone,  making  him  promise,  however,  that 
he  would  wait  for  him  at  the  small  inn  called  the  Tod's  Hole, 
situated,  as  our  readers  may  be  pleased  to  recollect,  half-way 
betwixt  Ravenswood  Castle  and  Wolf's  Crag,  and  about  five 
Scottish  miles  distant  from  each.  Here  the  Marquis  proposed 
to  join  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  either  that  night  or  the  next 
morning.  His  own  feelings  would  have  induced  him  to  have 
left  the  castle  directly,  but  he  was  loath  to  forfeit,  without  at 
least  one  effort,  the  advantages  which  he  had  proposed  from 
his  visit  to  the  Lord  Keeper ;  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
was,  even  in  the  very  heat  of  his  resentment,  unwilling  to  fore- 
close any  chance  of  reconciliation  which  might  arise  out  of  the 
partiality  which  Sir  William  Ashton  had  shown  toward  him,  as 
well  as  the  intercessory  arguments  of  his  noble  kinsman.  He 
himself  departed  without  a  moment's  delay,  further  than  was 
necessary  to  make  this  arrangement. 

At  first  he  spurred  his  horse  at  a  quick  pace  through  an 
avenue  of  the  park,  as  if,  by  rapidity  of  motion,  he  could  stupefy 
the  confusion  of  feelings  with  which  he  was  assailed.  But  as 
the  road  grew  wilder  and  more  sequestered,  and  when  the  trees 
had  hidden  the  turrets  of  the  castle,  he  gradually  slackened 
his  pace,  as  if  to  indulge  the  painful  reflections  which  he  had 
in  vain  endeavored  to  repress.  The  path  in  which  he  found 
himself  led  him  to  the  Mermaiden's  Fountain,  and  to  the  cottage 
^f  Alice  ,  and  the  fatal  influence  which  superstitious  belief 
attached  to  the  former  spot,  as  well  as  the   admonitions  which 


had  been  in  vain  offered  to  him  by  the  inhabitant  of  the  latter, 
forced  themselves  upon  his  memory.     "  Old  saws  speak  truthj 


,^{jjw>^ 


l86  THE   BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

he  said  to  himself  ;  "  and  the  Mermaiden's  Well  has  indeed  wifr 
nessed  the  last  act  of  rashness  of  the  heir  of  Ravenswood. — ■ 
Alice  spoke  well,"  he  continued,  "  and  I  am  in  the  situation 
which  she  foretold — or  rather,  I  am  more  deeply  dishonored — 
not  the  dependent  and  ally  of  the  destroyer  of  my  father's 
house,  as  the  old  sibyl  presaged,  but  the  degraded  wretch,  who 
has  aspired  to  hold  that  subordinate  character,  and  has  been 
rejected  with  disdain." 

We  are  bound  to  tell  the  tale  as  we  have  received  it ,  and 
cortsidering  the  distance  of  the  time,  and  propensity  of  those 
through  whose  mouths  it  has  passed  to  the  marvelous,  this 
could  not  be  called  a  Scottish  story,  unless  it  manifested  a 
tinge  of  Scottish  superstition.  As  Ravenswood  ajDproached  the 
solitary  fountain,  he  is  said  to  have  met  with  the  following 
singular  adventure  : — His  horse,  which  was  moving  slowly 
forward,  suddenly  interrupted  its  steady  and  composed  pace, 
snorted,  reared,  and,  though  urged  by  the  spur,  refused  t< 
proceed,  as  if  some  object  of  terror  had  suddenly  presented 
itself.  On  looking  to  the  fountain,  Ravenswood  discerned  a 
female  figure,  dressed  in  a  white,  or  rather  grayish  mantle, 
placed  on  the  very  spot  on  which  Lucy  Ashton  had  reclined 
while  listening  to  the  fatal  tale  of  love.  His  immediate  impres- 
sion was,  that  she  had  conjectured  by  which  path  he  would 
traverse  the  park  on  his  departure,  and  placed  herself  at  this 
well-known  and  sequestered  place  of  rendezvous,  to  indulge  her 
own  sorrow  and  his  in  a  parting  interview.  In  this  belief  he 
jumped  from  his  horse,  and  making  its  bridle  fast  to  a  tree, 
walked  hastily  toward  the  fountain,  pronouncing  eagerly,  yet 
under  his  breath,  the  words,  "  Miss  Ashton  ! — Lucy!  " 

The  figure  turned  as  he  addressed  it,  and  discovered  lo  his 
wondering  eyes  the  features,  not  of  Lucy  Ashton,  but  of  old 
blind  Alice.  The  singularity  of  her  dress,  which  rather  re- 
sembled a  shroud  than  the  garment  of  a  living  woman — the 
appearance  of  her  person  larger,  as  it  struck  him,  than  it 
usually  seemed  to  be — above  all,  the  strange  circumstances  of  a 
blind,  infirm,  and  decrepit  person  being  found  alone  and  at  a 
distance  from  her  habitation  (considerable,  if  her  infirmities  be 
taken  into  account),  combined  to  impress  him  with  a  feeling  of 
wonder  approaching  to  fear.  As  he  approached  she  arose 
slowly  from  her  seat,  held  her  shriveled  hand  up  as  if  to 
prevent  his  coming  more  near,  and  her  withered  lips  moved 
fast,  although  no  sound  issued  from  them.  Ravenswood 
stopped  ;  and  as,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  again  advanced 
toward  her,  Alice,  or  her  apparition,  moved,  or  glided,  back- 
ward toward  the  thicket,  still  keeping  her  face  turned  toward 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  jgy 

him.  The  trees  soon  hid  the  form  from  his  sight ;  and  yielding 
to  the  strong  and  terrific  impression  that  the  being  which  he 
had  seen  was  not  of  this  world,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
remained  rooted  to  the  ground  whereon  he  stood  when  he 
caught  his  last  view  of  her.  At  length,  summoning  up  his 
courage,  he  advanced  to  tiie  spot  on  which  the  figure  had  seemed 
to  be  seated ;  but  neither  was  there  pressure  of  the  grass  nor 
any  other  circumstance  to  induce  him  to  believe  that  what  he 
had  seen  was  real  and  substantial. 

Full  of  those  strange  thoughts  and  confused  apprehensions 
which  awake  in  the  bosom  of  one  who  conceives  he  has  wit- 
nessed some  preternatural  appearance,  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  walked  back  toward  his  horse,  frequently,  however,  look- 
ing behind  him,  not  without  apprehension,  as  if  expecting  that 
the  vision  would  re-appear.  But  the  apparition,  whether  it  was 
real,  or  whether  it  was  the  creation  of  a  heated  and  agitated 
imagination,  returned  not  again  ;  and  he  found  his  horse  sweat 
ing  and  terrified,  as  if  experiencing  that  agony  of  fear  with 
which  the  presence  of  a  supernatural  being  is  supposed  to  agi- 
tate the  brute  creation.  The  Master  mounted,  and  rode  slowly 
forward,  soothing  his  steed  from  time  to  time,  while  the  animal 
seemed  internally  to  shrink  and  shudder,  as  if  expecting  some 
new  object  of  fear  at  the  opening  of  every  glade.  The  rider, 
after  a  moment's  consideration,  resolved  to  investigate  the  mat' 
ter  further.  "  Can  my  eyes  have  deceived  me,"  he  said,  "  and 
deceived  me  for  such  a  space  of  time  ? — Or  are  this  woman's 
infirmities  but  feigned,  in  order  to  excite  compassion  ? — And 
even  then,  her  motion  resembled  not  that  of  a  living  and  exist- 
ing person.  Must  I  adopt  the  popular  creed,  and  think  that  the 
unhappy  being  has  formed  a  league  with  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness i* — I  am  determined  to  be  resolved — I  will  not  brook  im- 
position even  from  my  own  eyes." 

In  this  uncertainty  he  rode  up  to  the  little  wicket  of  Alice's 
garden.  Her  seat  beneath  the  birch-tree  was  vacant,  though 
the  day  was  pleasant,  and  the  sun  was  high.  He  approached 
the  hut,  and  heard  from  wilhin  the  sobs  and  wailing  of  a  female. 
No  answer  was  returned  when  he  knocked,  so  that,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  he  lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  It  was  indeed 
a  house  of  solitude  and  sorrow.  Stretched  upon  her  miserable 
pallet  lay  the  corpse  of  the  last  retainer  of  the  house  of  Ravens- 
wood,  who  still  abode  on  their  paternal  domains  !  Life  had  but 
shortly  departed  ;  and  the  little  girl  by  whom  she  had  been 
attended  in  her  last  moments  was  wringing  her  hands  and  sob- 
bing, betwixt  childish  fear  and  sorrow,  over  ttie  body  of  her 
mistress. 


/MjM^ 


,8g  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  had  some  difficulty  to  compost 
the  terrors  of  the  poor  child,  whom  his  unexpected  appearance 
had  at  first  rather  appalled  than  comforted;  and  when  he 
succeeded,  the  first  expression  which  the  girl  used  intimated 
that  "he  had  come  too  late."  Upon  inquiring  the  meaning  of 
this  expression,  he  learned  that  the  deceased,  upon  the  first 
attack  of  the  mortal  agony,  had  sent  a  peasant  to  the  castle  to 
beseech  an  interview  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  and  had 
expressed  the  utmost  impatience  for  his  return.  But  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  poor  are  tardy  and  negligent :  the  fellow  had  not 
reached  the  castle,  as  was  afterward  learned,  until  Ravenswood 
had  left  it,  and  had  then  found  too  much  amusement  among 
the  retinue  of  the  strangers  to  return  in  any  haste  to  the  cottage 
of  Alice.  Meantime  her  anxiety  of  mind  seemed  to  increase 
with  the  agony  of  her  body  ;  and,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Babie, 
her  only  attendant,  "  she  prayed  powerfully  that  she  might  see 
jher  master's  son  once  more,  and  renew  her  warning."  She  died 
just  as  the  clock  in  the  distant  village  tolled  one;  and  Ravens- 
wood remembered,  with  internal  shudderings,  that  he  had  heard 
the  chime  sound  through  the  wood  just  before  he  had  seen  what 
he  was  now  much  disposed  to  consider  as  the  spectre  of  the 
deceased. 

It  was  necessary,  as  well  from  his  respect  to  the  departed,  as 
in  common  humanity  to  her  terrified  attendant,  that  he  should 
take  some  measures  to  relieve  the  girl  from  her  distressing 
situation.  The  deceased,  he  understood,  had  expressed  a  desire 
to  be  buried  in  a  solitary  churchyard,  near  the  little  inn  of  the 
Tod's  Hole,  called  the  Hermitage,  or  more  commonly  Armitage, 
in  which  lay  interred  some  of  the  Ravenswood  family,  and  many 
of  their  followers.  Ravenswood  conceived  it  his  duty  to  gratify 
this  predilection,  so  commonly  found  to  exist  among  the  Scottish 
peasantry,  and  despatched  Babie  to  the  neighboring  village  to 
procure  the  assistance  of  some  females,  assuring  her  that,  in  the 
meanwhile,  he  would  himself  remain  with  the  dead  body,  which, 
as  in  Thessaly  of  old,  it  is  accounted  highly  unfit  to  leave  with- 
out a  watch. 

Thus,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  little  more, 
he  found  himself  sitting  a  solitary  guard  over  the  inanimate 
corpse  of  her  whose  dismissed  spirit,  unless  his  eyes  had 
strangely  deceived  him,  had  so  recently  manifested  itself  before 
him.  Notwithstanding  his  natural  courage,  the  Master  was 
considerably  affected  by  a  concurrence  of  circumstances  so  ex- 
traordinary. "  She  died  expressing  her  eager  desire  to  see  me. 
Can  it  be  then  " — was  his  natural  course  of  reflection — "  can 
Strong  and  earnest  wishes,  formed  during  the  last  agony  ol 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  jgg 

nature,  survive  its  catastrophe,  surmount  the  awful  bounds  of 
(he  spiritual  world,  and  place  before  us  its  inhabitants  in  the 
hues  and  coloring  of  life  ? — And  why  was  that  manifested  to 
the  eye  which  could  not  unfold  its  tale  to  the  ear  ? — and  where- 
fore should  a  breach  be  made  in  the  laws  of  nature,  yet  its 
purpose  remain  unknown  ?  Vain  questions,  which  only  death, 
when  it  shall  make  me  like  the  pale  and  withered  form  before 
me,  can  ever  resolve." 

He  laid  a  cloth,  as  he  spoke,  over  the  lifeless  face,  upon 
whose  features  he  felt  unwilling  any  longer  to  dwell.  He  then 
took  his  place  in  an  old  carved  oaken  chair,  ornamented  with  his 
own  armorial  bearings,  which  Alice  had  contrived  to  appro- 
priate to  her  own  use  in  the  pillage  which  took  place  among 
creditors,  officers,  domestics,  and  messengers  of  the  law,  when 
his  father  left  Ravenswood  Castle  for  the  last  time.  Thus 
seated,  he  banished,  as  much  as  he  could,  the  superstitious 
feelings  which  the  late  incident  naturally  inspired.  His  own 
were  sad  enough,  without  the  exaggeration  of  supernatural 
terror,  since  he  found  himself  transferred  from  the  situation  of  a 
successful  lover  of  Lucy  Ashton,  and  an  honored  and  respected 
friend  of  her  father,  into  the  melancholy  and  solitary  guardian 
of  the  abandoned  and  forsaken  corpse  of  a  comnion  pauper. 

He  was  relieved,  however,  from  his  sad  office  sooner  than  he 
could  reasonably  have  expected,  considering  the   distance  be- 
twixt the  hut  of  the  deceased  and  the  village,  and  the  age  and 
infirmities  of  three  old  women,  who  came  from  thence,  in  mili-  ■ 
tary  phrase,  to  relieve  guard  upon  the  body  of  the  defunct.     On 
any  other  occasion  the  speed  of  these  reverend  sibyls  would  have 
been  much  more  moderate,  for  the  first  was  eighty  years  of  age 
and  upward,  the  second  was  paralytic,  and  the  third  lame  of  a 
leg  from  some  accident.     But  the  burial  duties  rendered  to  the  6.c^tM(/ 
deceased,  are,  to  the  Scottish  peasant  of  either  sex,  a  labor  of      fi 
love.     I  know  not  whether  it  is  from  the  temper  of  the  people,  5     .".(). 
grave  and  enthusiastic  as  it  certainly  is,  or  from  the  recollection  '      ^■^-^-'WJ 
of  the  ancient  Catholic  opinions,  when  the  funeral  rites  were 
always  considered  as  a  period  of  festival  to  the  living  ,  but  feast 
ing,  good  cheer,  and  even  inebriety,  were,  and  are,  the  frequent 
accompaniments  of  a  Scottish  old-fashioned  burial.    What  the 
funeral    feast  or  dh^e,    as  it  is  called,   was  to  the  men,  the 
gloomy  preparations  of  the  dead  body  for  the  coffin  were  to  the 
women.    To  straight  the  contorted  limbs  upon  a  board  used  for 
that  melancholy  purpose,  to  array  the  corpse  in  clean  linen,  and 
over  that  in  its  woolen  shroud,  were  operations  committed  always 
to  the  0I4  matrons  of  the  village,  and  in  which  they  found  a 
singular  and  gloomy  delight. 


10b  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOORi 

The  o!d  women  paid  the   Master  their  salutations  with  a 

, ,       -ghastly  smile,  which  reminded   him    of   the    meeting  betwixt 

■■  ^   J  LMacbeth  and  the  witches  on  the  blasted  heath  of  Forres,     He 

'  '-  ^      gave  them  some  money,  and  recommended  to  them  the  charge 

of  the  dead  body  of  their  contemporary,  an  office  which  they 

willingly  undertook ;  intimating  to  him,  at  the  same  time,  that 

he  must  leav^e  the  hut,   in  order  that  they  might  begin  their 

mournful  duties.     Ravenswood  readily  agreed  to  depart,  only 

tarrying  to  recommend  to  them  due  attention  to  the  body,  and 

to  receive  information  where  he  was  to  find  the  sexton,  or  beadle, 

who  had  in  charge  the  deserted  churchyard  of  the  Armltage,  in 

order  to  prepare  matters  for  the  reception  of  old  Alice  in  the 

place  of  repose  which  she  had  selected  for  herself. 

"  Ye'll  no  be  pinched  to  find  out  Johnie  Mortsheugh,"  said 

the  elder  sibyl,  and  still  her  withered  cheek  wore  a  grisly  smile, 

'  ,,  — "he  dwells  near  the  Tod's   Hole,  a  house   of  entertainment 

'^where   there  has  been   mony  a  blithe  birling — for  death  and 

u^  drink-draining  are  near  neighbors  to  ane  anither.'' 

"  Ay  !  and  that's  e'en  true,  cummer,"  said  the  lame  hag, 
propping  herself  with  a  crutch  which  supported  the  shortness 
of  her  left  leg,  "for  I  mmd  when  the  father  of  this  Master  of 
Ravenswood  that  is  now  standing  before  us,  sticked  young 
Blackball  with  his  whinger,  for  a  wrang  word  said  over  their 
wine,  or  brandy,  or  what  not — he  gaed  in  as  light  as  a  lark, 
and  he  came  out  wi'  his  feet  foremost.  I  was  at  the  winding 
of  the  corpse ;  and  when  the  bluid  was  washed  off,  he  was  a 
bonny  bouk  of  a  man's  body." 

It  may  easily  be  believed,  that  this  ill-timed  anecdote  hast- 
ened the  Master's  purpose  of  quitting  a  company  so  evil- 
omened  and  so  odious.  Yet,  while  walking  to  the  tree  to  which 
his  horse  was  tied,  and  busying  himself  with  adjusting  the 
girths  of  the  saddle,  he  could  not  avoid  hearing,  through  the 
hedge  of  the  little  garden,  a  conversation  respecting  himself, 
betwixt  the  lame  woman  and  the  octogenarian  sibyl.  The  pair 
had  hobbled  into  the  garden  to  gather  rosemary,  southernwood, 
rue,  and  other  plants  proper  to  be  strewed  upon  the  body,  and 
burned  by  way  of  fumigation  in  the  chimney  of  the  cottage. 
The  paralytic  wretch,  almost  exhausted  by  the  journey,  was 
left  guard  upon  the  corpse,  lest  witches  or  fiends  might  play 
their  sport  with  it. 

The  following  low  croaking  dialogue  was  necessarily  over- 
heard by  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  : — 

"That's  afresh  and  full-grown  hemlock,  Annie  Winnie-^ 
mony  a  cummer  lang  syne  wad  hae  sought  nae  better  horse  to 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


I9t 


flee  over  hill  and  how,  through  mist  and  moonlight,  and  light 
down  in  the  King  of  France's  cellar." 

"  Ay,  cummer  !  but  the  very  deil  has  turned  as  hard-hearted 
now  as  the  Lord  Keeper,  and  the  grit  folk  that  hae  breasts  like 
whin-stane.  They  prick  us  and  they  pine  us,  and  they  pi'  us 
on  the  pinny-winkles  for  witches  ;  and,  if  I  say  my  prayers 
backward  ten  times  ower,  Satan  will  never  gie  me  amends  o' 
them." 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  the  foul  thief  ?  "  asked  her  neighbor, 

"  Na  !  "  replied  the  other  spokeswoman  ;  "  but  I  trow  I  hae 
dreamed  of  him  mony  a  time,  and  I  think  the  day  will  come 
they  will  burn  me  for't. — But  ne'er  mind,  cummer  !  we  hae  this 
dollar  of  the  Master's,  and  we'll  send  doun  for  bread  and  for 
yill,  tobacco,  and  a  drap  brandy  to  burn,  and  a  wee  pickle  saft 
sugar — and  be  there  deil,  or  nae  deil,  lass,  we'll  hae  a  merry 
night  o't." 

Here  her  leathern  chops  uttered  a  sort  of  cackling  ghastly 
laugh,  resembling,  to  a  certain  degree,  the  cry  of  the  screech- 
owl. 

"  He's  a  frank  man,  and  a  free-handed  man,  the  Master," 
said  Annie  Winnie,  "  and  a  comely  personage — broad  in  the 
shouthers,  and  narrow  around  the  lungies — he  wad  mak  a 
bonny  corpse — I  wad  like  to  hae  the  streaking  and  winding  o' 
him." 

"  It  is  written  on  his  brow,  Annie  Winnie,"  returned  the 
octogenarian,  her  companion,  "  that  hand  of  woman,  or  of  man 
either,  will  never  straught  him — dead-deal  will  never  be  laid  on 
his  back — make  you  your  market  of  that,  for  I  hae  it  frae  a 
sure  hand." 

"  Will  it  be  his  lot  to  die  on  the  battle-ground  then,  Ailsie 
Gourlay  ? — Will  he  die  by  the  sword,  or  the  ball,  as  his  for- 
bears hae  dune  before  him,  mony  ane  o'  them  ? '' 

"  Ask  nae  mair  questions  about  it — he'll  no  be  graced  sae 
far,"  replied  the  sage. 

"  I  ken  ye  are  wiser  than  ither  folk,  Ailsie  Gourlay — But 
wha  tell'd  ye  this  ?  " 

"  Fashna  your  thumb  about  that,  Annie  Winnie,"  answered 
the  sibyl — "  I  hae  it  frae  a  hand  sure  eneugh." 

"  But  ye  said  ye  never  saw  the  foul  thief,"  reiterated  her 
inquisitive  companion. 

"  I  hae  it  frae  as  sure  a  hand,"  said  Ailsie,  "  and  frae  them 
that  spaed  his  fortune  before  the  sark  gaed  ower  his  head." 

"  Hark  !  I  hear  his  horse's  feet  riding  aff,"  said  the  other  ; 
"  they  dinna  sound  as  if  good  luck  was  wi'  them." 

"  Mak  haste,  sirs,"  cried  the  paralytic  hag  from  the  cottage^ 


tgi 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


"  and  let  us  do  what  is  needfu,'  and  say  what  is  fitting  ,  for  if 
the  dead  corpse  binna  straughted  it  will  girn  and  thraw,  and 
that  will  fear  the  best  o'  us." 

Ravenswood  was  now  out  of  hearing.  He  despised  most 
of  the  ordinary  prejudices  about  witchcraft,  omens,  and  vaticina- 
tion, to  which  his  age  and  country  still  gave  such  implicit  credit, 
that  to  express  a  doubt  of  them,  was  accounted  a  crime  equal 
to  the  unbelief  of  Jews  or  Saracens  ;  he  knew  also  that  the 
prevailing  belief  concerning  witches,  operating  upon  the  hy- 
pochondriac habits  of  those  whom  age,  infirmity,  and  poverty 
rendered  liable  to  suspicion,  and  enforced  by  the  fear  of  death, 
and  the  pangs  of  the  most  cruel  tortures,  often  extorted  those 
confessions  which  encumber  and  disgrace  the  criminal  records 
of  Scotland  during  the  seventeenth  century.  But  the  vision  of 
tha"^  morning,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  had  impressed  his 
mind  with  a  superstitious  feeling  which  he  in  vain  endeavored 
to  shake  off.  The  nature  of  the  business  which  awaited  him 
at  the  little  inn,  called  Tod's  Hole,  where  he  soon  after  arrived, 
was  not  of  a  kind  to  restore  his  spirits. 

It  was  necessary  he  should  see  Mortsheugh,  the  sexton  of 
the  old  burial-ground  at  Armitage,  to  arrange  matters  for  the 
funeral  of  Alice ;  and  as  the  man  dwelt  near  the  place  of  her 
late  residence,  the  Master,  after  a  slight  refreshment,  walked 
toward  the  place  where  the  body  of  Alice  was  to  be  deposited. 
It  was  situated  in  the  nook  formed  by  the  eddying  sweep  of  a 
stream  which  issued  from  the  adjoining  hills.  A  rude  cavern 
in  an  adjacent  rock,  which,  in  the  interior,  was  cut  into  the 
shape  of  a  cross,  formed  the  hermitage,  where  some  Saxon 
saint  had  in  ancient  time  done  penance,  and  given  name  to  the 
place.  The  rich  abbey  of  Coldinghame  had,  in  latter  days, 
established  a  chapel  in  the  neighborhood,  of  which  no  vestige 
was  now  visible,  though  the  churchyard  which  surrounded  it 
was  still,  as  upon  the  present  occasion,  used  for  the  interment 
of  particular  persons.  One  or  two  shattered  yew-trees  still 
grew  within  the  precincts  of  that  which  had  once  been  holy 
ground.  Warriors  and  barons  had  been  buried  <here  of  old,  but 
their  names  were  forgotten,  and  their  monuments  demolished. 
The  only  sepulchral  memorials  which  remained,  were  the  up- 
right headstones  which  marked  the  graves  of  persons  of 
inferior  rank.  The  abode  of  the  sexton  was  a  solitary  cottage 
adjacent  to  the  ruined  wall  of  the  cemetery,  but  so  low,  that, 
with  its  thatch,  which  nearly  reached  the  ground,  covered  with 
a  thick  crop  of  grass,  fog,  and  house-leeks,  it  resembled  an 
overgrown  grave.  On  inquiry,  however,  Ravenswood  found 
that  the  man  of  the  last  mattock  was  absent  at  a  bridal,  bein|; 


THE  BRIDE  01  LAMMERMOOR. 


^91 


fiddler  as  well  as  grave-digger  to  the  vicinity.  He  therefore 
retired  to  the  little  inn,  leaving  a  message  that  early  next 
morning  he  would  again  call  for  the  person  whose  double  occu- 
pation connected  him  at  once  with  the  house  of  mourning  and 
the  house  of  feasting. 

An  outrider  of  the  Marquis  arrived  at  Tod's  Hole  shortly 
after,  with  a  message,  intimating  that  his  master  would  join 
Ravenswood  at  that  place  on  the  following  morning ;  and  the 
Master,  who  would  otherwise  have  proceeded  to  his  old  retreat 
at  Wolf's  Crag,  remained  there  accordingly,  to  give  meeting  to 
his  noble  kinsman. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THIRD. 

Hamlet. — Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business  ? — he  sings  at 

grave  making. 
HoRAXro. — Custom  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of  easiness. 
Hamlet. — 'Tis  e'en  so ;  the  hand  of  little  employment  hath  the 

daintier  sense. 

Hamlet,  Act  V  Scene  I. 

The  sleep  of  Ravenswood  was  broken  by  ghastly  and 
agitating  visions,  and  his  waking  intervals  disti:rbed  by  melan- 
choly reflections  on  the  past,  and  painful  anticipations  of  the 
future.  He  was  perhaps  the  only  traveler  who  ev;r  slept  in 
that  miserable  kennel  without  complaining  of  his  lodgings,  or 
feeling  inconvenience  from  their  deficiencies.  It  is  when  ^he 
mind  is  free  the  body's  delicate."  Morning,  however,  found 
the  Master  an  early  riser,  in  hopes  that  the  fresh  air  of  the 
dawn  might  afford  the  refreshment  which  night  had  refused 
him.  He  took  his  way  toward  the  solitary  burial-ground,  which 
lay  about  half-a-mile  from  the  inn. 

The  thin  blue  smoke,  which  already  began  to  curl  upward, 
and  to  distinguish  the  cottage  of  the  living  from  the  habitation 
of  the  dead,  apprised  him  that  its  inmate  had  returned  and  was 
stirring.  Accordingly,  on  entering  the  little  churchyard,  he 
saw  the  old  man  laboring  in  a  half-made  grave.  My  destiny, 
thought  Ravenswood,  seems  to  lead  me  to  scenes  of  fate  and 
of  death  ;  but  these  are  childish  thoughts,  and  they  shall  not 
master  me.  I  will  not  again  suffer  my  imagination  to  beguile 
my  senses. — The  old  man  rested  on  his  spade  as  the  Master 
approached  him,  as  if  to  receive  his  commands  \  and  as  he  did 


J94  ^^^  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

not  immediately  speak,  the  sexton  opened  the  discourse  in  his 
own  way. 

"Ye  will  be  a  wedding  customer,  sir,  I'sc  warrant," 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  friend  ?  "  replied  the  Master, 
^^^v^'"I   live   by   twa   trades,  sir,"  replied  the  blithe  old  man; 
^*y^  "fiddle,  sir,  and  spade  ;  filling  the  world,  and  emptying   of  it  ; 
and  T'sLild  ken  baith  cast  of  customers  by  head-mark  in  thirty 
years'  practice." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  however,  this  morning,"  replied  Ra- 
venswood. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  looking  keenly  at  him,  "  troth 
and  it  may  be  ;  since,  for  as  brent  as  your  brow  is,  there  is 
somethmg  sitting  upon  it  this  day,  that  is  as  near  akin  to  death 
as  to  wedlock.  Weel,  weel  •  the  pick  and  shovel  are  as  ready 
to  your  order  as  bow  and  fiddle.' 

"  I  wish  you,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  to  look  after  the  decent 
interment  of  an  old  woman,  Alice  Gray,  who  lived  at  the  Craig- 
foot  in  Ravenswood  Park." 

"Alice  Gray  :  blind  Alice  !"  said  the  sexton  ;  "  and  is  she 
gane  at  last  ?  that's  another  jow  of  the  bell  to  bid  me  be  ready. 
I  mind  when  Habbie  Gray  brought  her  down  to  this  land  ;  a 
likely  lass  she  was  then,  and  looked  over  her  southland  nose  at 
us  a'.  I  trow  her  pride  got  a  downcome.  And  is  she  e'en 
gane  ? " 

"  She  died  j-esterday,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  and  desired  to  be 
buried  here,  beside  her  husband  ;  you  know  where  he  lies,  no 
doubt  ? " 

"  Ken  where  he  lies  ?  "  answered  the  sexton,  with  national 
indii^ction  of  response,  "  I  ken  where  a'body  lies,  that  lies  here. 
But  ye  were  speaking  o'  her  grave  ? — Lord  help  us — it's  no  an 
ordinar  grave  tliat  will  hand  her  in,  if  a's  true  that  folk  said  of 
Alice  in  her  auld  days  ;  and  if  I  gae  to  six  feet  deep, — and  a 
warlock's  grave  shouldna  be  an  inch  mair  ebb,  or  her  ain  witch 
cummers  would  soon  whirl  her  out  of  her  shroud  for  a'  their 
auld  acquaintance — and  be't  six  feet,  or  be't  three,  wha's  to  pay 
the  making  o't,  I  pray  ye  ?  " 

"  I  will  pay  that,  my  friend,  and  all  reasonable  charges." 

'•  Reasonable  charges  ?  "  said  the  sexton  ;  "  ou,  there's  grund- 
mail — and  bell-siller — (though  the  bell's  broken,  nae  doubt) — 
and  the  kist — and  my  day's  wark — and  my  bit  fee — and  some 
brandy  and  yill  to  the  dirgic — I  am  no  thinkaig  that  you  can 
inter  her,  to  ca'  decently,  under  snxteen  pound  Scots. 

"There  is  the  money,  my  friend,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  and 
something  over.     Be  sure  you  know  the  grave." 

"  Ye'll  be  ane  o'  her  English  relations,  J 'se  warrant,"  said  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


195 


hoary  man  of  skulls  •  "  I  hae  heard  she  married  far  below  her  sta- 
tion ;  it  was  very  right  to  let  he;  bite  on  the  bridle  when  she 
was  living,  and  it's  very  right  to  gie  her  a  decent  burial  now  she's 
dead,  'or  that's  a  matter  o'  credit  to  yoursell  rather  than  to  her. 
Folk  may  let  their  kindred  shift  for  themsells  when  they  are 
alive,  and  can  bear  the  burden  of  their  ain  misdoings.-  but  it's 
an  unnatural  thing  to  let  them  be  buried  like  dogs,  when  a  the 
discredit  gangs  to  the  kindred — what  kens  the  dead  corpse 
about  it  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  have  people  neglect  the  relations  on  a 
bridal  occasion  neither?"  said  Ravenswood,  who  was  amused 
with  the  professional  limitation  of  the  gravedigger's  philan- 
thropy. 

The  old  man  cast  up  his  sharp  gray  eyes  with  a  shrewd  smile, 
as  if  he  understood  the  jest,  but  instantly  continued,  with  his 
former  gravity, — "  Bridals — wha  wad  neglect  bridals,  that  had 
ony  regard  for  plenishing  the  earth  ?  To  be  sure,  they  sulci 
be  celebrated  with  all  manner  of  good  cheer,  and  meeting  of 
friends,  and  musical  instruments,  harp,  sackbut,  and  psaltery ; 
or  gude  fiddle  and  pipes,  when  these  auld-warld  instruments  of 
melody  are  hard  to  be  compassed." 

"  The  presence  of  the  fiddle,  I  daresay,"  replied  Ravenswood, 
"would  atone  for  the  absence  of  all  others." 

The  sexton  ''gain  looked  sharply  up  at  him,  as  he  answered 
"  Nae  doubt — nae  doubt — if  it  were  weel  played  • — but  yonder," 
he  said,  as  if  to  change  the  discourse,  "  is  Halbert  Gray's  lang 
hame,  that  ye  were  speering  after,  just  the  third  ourock  beyond 
the  muckle  through-stane  that  stands  on  sax  legs  yonder  abune 
some  ane  of  the  Ravenswoods  ;  for  there  is  mony  of  their  kin 
and  followers  here,  deil  lift  them  !  though  it  isna  just  their  main 
buiial-place." 

"  They  are  no  favorites,  then,  of  yours,  these  Ravenswoods  ?  " 
said  the  Master,  not  much  pleased  with  the  passing  benediction 
which  was  thus  bestowed  on  his  family  and  name. 

"  I  kenna  wha  should  favor  them,"  said  the  gravedigger ; 
"  when  they  had  lands  and  power,  they  were  ill  guides  of  them 
baith,  and  now  their  head's  down,  there's  few  care  how  lang 
they  may  be  of  lifting  it  again.  ' 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  I  never  heard  that  this  un- 
happy family  deserved  ill-will  at  the  hands  of  their  country,  I 
grant  their  poverty — if  that  renders  them  contemptible." 

It  will  gang  a  far  away  till't,"  said  the  sexton  of  Hermitage, 

ye  may  tak  my  word  for  that — at  least,  I  ken  naething  else  that 

suld  mak  myself  contemptible,  and  folk  are  far  frae  respecting 

me  as  they  wad  do  if  I  lived  in  a  twa-lofted-sclated  house.     But 


,g6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

as  for  the  Ravcnswoods,  I  hae  seen  three  generations  of  them, 
deil  ane  to  mend  o;'ier." 

"  I  thought  they  had  enjoyed  a  fair  character  in  the  country," 
said  their  descendant. 

"  Character  !  Ou,  ye  see,  sir,"  said  the  sexton,  "  as  for  the 
auld  gude-sire  body  of  a  lord,  I  Hved  on  his  land  when  I  was 
a  swanking  young  chield,  and  could  hae  blavvn  the  trumpet 
wi'  onybody,  for  I  had  wind  enough  then — and  toucliing  this 
trumpeter  Marine*  that  I  have  heard  play  afore  the  Lords  of  the 
Circuit,  I  wad  hae  made  nae  mair  o'  him  than  of  a  bairn  and 
a  bawbee  whistle — I  defy  him  to  hae  played  '  Boot  and  saddle,' 
or  '  Horse  and  away,'  or  '  Gallants,  come  trot,'  with  me — he 
hadna  the  tones." 

"  But  what  is  all  this  to  old  Lord  Ravenswood,  my  friend  ?  " 
said  the  Master,  who,  with  an  anxiety  not  unnatural  in  his  cir- 
cumstances, was  desirous  of  prosecuting  the  musician's  first 
topic — "  What  had  his  memory  to  do  with  the  degeneracy  of 
the  trumpet  music  ?  " 

"  Just  this,  sir,"  answered  the  sexton,  "  that  I  lost  my  wind 
in  his  service.  Ye  see  I  was  trumpeter  at  the  castle,  and  had 
allowance  for  blawing  at  break  of  day,  and  at  dinner-time,  and 
ther  whiles  when  there  was  company  about,  and  it  pleased  my 
lord ;  and  when  he  raised  his  militia  to  caper  awa  to  BothwelJ 
Brigg  against  the  wrang-headed  wastland  Whigs,  I  behoved, 
reason  or  nane,  to  munt  a  horse  and  caper  awa  wi'  them." 

"  And  very  reasonable,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  you  were  his 
servant  and  vassal." 

"  Servitor,  say  ye  }  "  replied  the  sexton,  "  and  so  I  was — but 
it  was  to  blaw  folk  to  their  warm  dinner,  or  at  the  warst  to  a 
decent  kirkyard,  and  no  to  skirl  them  awa  to  a  bluidy  brae-side, 
where  there  was  deil  a  bedral  but  the  \hooded  craw.  .  But  bide 
ye — ye  shall  hear  what  cam  o't,  and  how  far  I  am  bund  to  be 
bedesman  to  the  Ravenswoods. — Till't,  ye  see,  we  gaed  on  a 
braw  simmer  morning,  twenty-fourth  of  June,  saxteen  hundred 
md  se'enty-nine,  of  a'  the  days  of  the  month  and  year, — drums 
heat — guns  rattled — horses  kicked  and  trampled.  Hackstoun 
of  Ralhillet  keepit  the  brigg  wi'  musket  and  carabine  and  pike, 
sword  and  scythe  for  what  1  ken,  and  we  horsemen  were  ordered 
down  to  cross  at  the  ford, — I  hate  fords  at  a'  times,  let  abee 
when  there's  thousands  of  armed  men  on  the  other  side.  There 
was  auld  Ravenswood  brandishing  his  Andrew  Ferrara  at  the 
head,  and  crying  to  us  to  come  and  bucke  of,  as  if  we  had  been 
gaun  to  a  fair, — there  was  Caleb  Balderston,  that  is  living  yet, 
flourishing  in  the  rear,  and  swearing  Gog  and  Magog,  he  would 
*  INote  J.    Trumpeter  Marine  at  Sheriffmuir.] 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  197 

put  steel  through  the  guts  of  ony  man  that  turned  bridle,— 
there  was  young  Allan  Ravenswood,  that  was  then  Master,  wi' 
a  bended  pistol  in  his  hand, — it  was  a  mercy  it  gaed  na  aff, — • 
crying  to  me,  that  had  scarce  as  much  wind  left  as  serve  the 
necessary  purpose  of  my  ain  lungs,  '  Sound,  you  poltroon  ! 
sound,  you  damned  cowardly  villain,  or  I  will  blow  your  brains 
out !  '  and,  to  be  sure,  I  blew  sic  points  of  war,  that  the  scraugh 
of  a  clockin-hen  was  music  to  them." 

"  Well,  sir,  cut  all  this  short,"  said  Ravenswood. 

"  Short  ! — I  had  like  to  hae  been  cut  short  mysell,  in  the 
flower  of  my  youth,  as  Scripture  says  ;  and  that's  the  very 
thing  that  I  compleen  o' — Weel  !  in  to  the  water  we  behoved 
a'  to  splash,  heels  ower  head,  sit  or  fa' — ae  horse  driving  on 
anither,  as  is  the  way  of  brute  beasts,  and  riders  that  hae  as 
little  sense, — the  very  bushes  on  the  itherside  were  ableeze  wi' 
the  flashes  of  the  Whig  guns ;  and  my  horse  had  just  taen  the 
grund,  when  a  blackavised  westland  carle — I  wad  mind  the 
face  o'  him  a  hundred  years  yet — an  e'e  like  a  wild  falcon's,  and 
a  beard  as  broad  as  my  shovel,  clapped  the  end  o'  his  lang 
black  gun  within  a  quarter's  length  o'  my  lug  ! — by  the  grace 
o'  Mercy,  the  horse  swarved  round,  and  I  fell  aff  at  the  tae  side 
as  the  ball  whistled  by  at  the  tither,  and  the  fell  auld  lord  took 
the  Whig  such  a  swauk  wi'  his  broadsword  that  he  made  two 
pieces  o'  his  head,  and  down  fell  the  lurdane  wi'  a'  his  bowk 
abune  me." 

"You  were  rather  obliged  to  the  old  lord,  I  think,"  said 
Ravenswood. 

"  Was  I  ?  my  sartie  !  first  for  bringing  me  into  jeopardy, 
would  I  nould  I — and  then  for  whomling  a  chield  on  the  tap  o' 
me,  that  dang  the  very  wind  out  o'  my  body  ? — I  hae  been  short- 
breathed  ever  since,  and  canna  gang  twenty  yards  without 
peghing  like  a  miller's  aiver."  * 

"  You  lost,  then,  your  place  as  trumpeter  ?  "  said  Ravens^ 
wood. 

"Lost  it?  to  be  sure  I  lost  it,"  replied  the  sexton,  "for  I 
couldna  hae  played  pew  upon  a  dry  humlock ; — but  I  might 
hae  dune  weel  enough,  for  I  keepit  the  wage  and  the  free 
house,  and  little  to  do  but  play  on  the  fiddle  to  them,  but  for 
Allan,  last  Lord  Ravenswood,  that  was  far  waur  than  ever  his 
father  was." 

"  What,"  said  the  Master,  "  did  my  father—  I  mean,  did  his 
father's  son — this  last  Lord  Ravenswood,  deprive  you  of  what 
the  bounty  of  his  father  allowed  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  troth  did  he,"  answered  the  old  man  ;  "  for  he  loot  his 
*  £A  broken-winded  cart-horscj 


igS  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

affairs  gang  to  the  dogs,  and  let  this  at  Sir  William  Ashton  on 
us,  that  will  gie  naething  for  naething,  and  just  removed  me 
and  a'  the  puir  creatures  that  had  bite  and  soup  in  the  castle, 
and  a  hole  to  put  our  heads  in,  when  things  were  in  the  auld 
way." 

"  If  Lord  Ravenswood  protected  his  people,  my  friend,  while 
he  had  the  means  of  doing  so,  I  thmk  they  might  spare  his 
memory,"  replied  the  Master. 

"  Ye  are  welcome  to  your  ain  opinion,  sir,"  said  the  sexton  ; 
"  but  ye  winna  persuade  me  that  he  did  his  duty,  either  to 
hir.isell  or  to  huz  puir  dependent  creatures,  in  guiding  us  the 
gate  he  has  done — he  might  hae  gien  us  liferent  tacks  of  our 
bits  o'  houses  and  yards — and  me  that's  an  auld  man  living 
in  yon  miserable  cabin,  that's  fitter  for  the  dead  than  the 
quick,  and  killed  wi'  rheumatise,  and  John  Smith  in  my  dainty 
bit  mailing,  and  his  window  glazen,  and  a'  because  Ravenswood 
jruided  his  gear  like  a  fule  !  " 

"  It  is  but  too  true,"  said  Ravenswood,  conscience-struck  ; 
"the  penalties  of  extravagance  extend  far  beyond  the  prodigal's 
own  sufferings." 

"  However,"  said  the  sexton,  "  this  young  man  Edgar  is  like 
to  avenge  my  wrangs  on  the  haill  of  his  kindred." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Ravenswood ;  "  why  do  you  suppose  so  ?  " 

"  They  say  he  is  about  to  marry  the  daughter  of  Leddy 
Ashton  ;  and  let  her  leddyship  get  his  head  ance  under  her 
oxter,  and  see  you  if  she  winna  gie  his  neck  a  thraw.  Sorra  a 
bit  if  I  were  him — Let  her  alane  for  handing  a'  thing  in  het 
water  that  draws  near  her — sae  the  warst  wish  I  shall  wish  the 
lad  is,  that  he  may  take  his  ain  creditable  gate  o't  and  ally 
himsell  wi'  his  father's  enemies,  that  have  taken  his  broad  lands 
and  my  bonny  kailyard  from  the  lawful  owners  thereof." 

Cervantes  acutely  remarks,  tliat  flattery  is  pleasing^even 
from  the  mouth  of  a.  madman  ;  and  censure,  as  well  aspraise, 
often  affect  us,  while  we  despise  the  opinions  and  motives  on 
which  it  is  founded  and  expressed.  Ravenswood,  abruptly 
reiterating  his  command  that  Alice's  funeral  should  be  attended 
10,  flung  away  from  the  sexton,  under  the  painful  impression 
that  the  great,  as  well  as  the  small  vulgar,  would  think  of  his 
engagement  with  Lucy  like  this  ignorant  and  selfish  peasant. 

"And  I  have  stooped  to  subject  myself  to  these  calumnies, 
and  am  rejected  notwithstanding !  Lucy,  your  faith  must  be 
true  and  perfect  as  a  diamond,  to  compensate  for  the  dis- 
honor which  men's  opinions,  and  the  conduct  of  your  mother, 
attach  to  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  !  " 

As  he  raised  his  eyes,  he  beheld  the  Marquis  of  A ,  who, 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  i<jg 

having  arrived  at  the  Tod's  Hole,  had  walked  forth  to  look  for 
his  kinsman. 

After  mutual  greetings,  he  made  some  apology  to  the  Master 
for  not  coming  forward  on  the  preceding  evening.  "  It  was  his 
wish,"  he  said,  "  to  have  done  so,  but  he  had  come  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  some  matters  which  induced  him  to  delav  his  purpose. 
I  find,"  he  proceeded,  "  there  has  been  a  love  affair  here,  kins- 
man ;  and  though  I  might  blame  you  for  not  having  com- 
municated with  me,  as  being  in  some  degree  the  chief  of  your 
family  " 

"  With  your  lordship's  permission,"  said  Ravenswood.  "  I 
am  deeply  grateful  for  the  interest  you  are  pleased  to  take  in 
me — but  /am  the  chief  and  head  of  my  family." 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,"  said  the  Marquis ;  "  in  a  strict 
heraldic  and  genealogical  sense,  you  certainly  are  so — what 
I  mean  is,  that  being  in  some  measure  under  my  guardian- 
ship " 

"  I  must  take  the  liberty  to  say,  my  lord,"  answered  Ravens- 
wood — and  the  tone  in  which  he  interrupted  the  Marquis  boded 
no  longer  duration  to  the  friendship  of  the  noble  relatives,  when 
he  himself  was  interrupted  by  the  little  sexton,  who  came 
puffing  after  them,  to  ask  if  their  honors  would  choose  music 
at  the  change-house  to  make  up  for  short  cheer. 

"  We  want  no  music,"  said  the  Master  abruptly. 

"Your  honor  disna  ken  what  ye're  refusing,  then,"  said  the 
fiddler,  with  the  impertinent  freedom  of  his    profession.     "  I 
c.w  play  'Wilt  thou  do't  again,'  and  'The  Auld  Man's  Mear's  /v;^,^-^..-^ ,^ - 
Dead,'  sax  times  better  than  ever  Pattie  Birnie.*     I'll  get  my  'I 

fiddle  in  the  turning  of  a  coffin  screw." 

"  Take  yourself  away,  sir,"  said  the  Marquis. 

"  And  if  your  honor  be  a  north-country  gentleman,"  said 
the  persevering  minstrel,  "  whilk  I  wad  judge  from  your  tongue, 
I  can  play  '  Liggeram  Cosh,'  and  '  Mullin  Dhu,'  and  '  The 
Cummers  of  Athole.' " 

"  Take  yourself  away,  friend  ;  you  interrupt  our  conversa- 
tion." 

"  Or  if,  under  your  honor's  favor,  ye  should  happen  to  be  a 
thought  honest,  I  can  play "  (this  in  a  low  and  confidential 
tone)  "  '  Killiecrankie,'  and  '  The  King  shall  hae  his  ain,'  and 
'The  Auld  Stuarts  back  again,' — and  the  wife  at  the  change- 
house  is  a  decent  discreet  body,  neither  kens  nor  cares  what 
toasts  are  drucken,  and  what  tunes  are  played  in  her  house — • 
she's  deaf  to  a'  thing  but  the  clink  o'  the  siller." 

*  [  Patie  Birnie,  a  celebrated  fiddler  and  songster  of  tCinghorn. — Seo 
Allan  Ramsay's  Collected  Poems,  Edition  1721.] 


200  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

The  Marquis,  who  was  sometimes  suspected  of  Jacobitism, 
tould  not  help  laughing  as  he  threw  the  fellow  a  dollar,  and 
bid  him  go  play  to  the  servants  if  he  had  a  mind,  and  leave 
them  at  peace." 

"  Aweel,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  wishing  your  honors 
gude-day — I'll  be  a' the  better  of  the  dollar,  and  ye'll  be  the 
waur  of  wanting  the  music,  I'se  tell  ye.  But  I'se  gang  hame, 
and  finish  the  tuning  o'  a  fiddle-string,  lay  by  my  spade,  and 
then  get  my  tother  bread-winner,  and  awa  to  your  folk,  and 
see  if  they  hae  better  lugs  than  their  masters." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOURTH. 

True  love,  an  thou  be  true, 

Thou  hast  ane  kittle  part  to  play; 
For  fortune,  fashion,  fancy,  and  thou, 

Maun  strive  for  many  a  day. 

I've  kend  by  mony  a  friend's  tale, 

Far  better  by  this  heart  of  mine, 
What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avail 

A  true-love  knot  to  untwine. 

Hendersoun. 

"  I  WISHED  to  tell  you,  my  good  kinsman,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, "  now  that  we  are  quit  of  that  impertinent  fiddler,  that  ) 
had  tried  to  discuss  this  love  affair  of  yours  with  Sir  William 
Ashton's  daughter,  I  never  saw  the  young  lady  but  for  a  few 
minutes  to-day;  so,  being  a  stranger  to  her  personal  merits,  ] 
pay  a  compliment  to  you,  and  offer  her  no  offence,  in  saying 
you  might  do  better." 

"  My  lord,  I  am  much  indebted  for  the  interest  you  have 
taken  in  my  affairs,"  said  Ravenswood.  "  I  did  not  intend  to 
have  troubled  you  in  any  matter  concerning  Miss  Ashton.  As 
my  engagement  with  that  young  lady  has  reached  your  lord- 
ship, I  can  only  say,  that  you  must  necessarily  suppose  that  J 
was  aware  of  the  objections  to  my  marrying  into  her  father's 
family,  and  of  course  must  have  been  completely  satisfied  with 
the  reasons  by  which  these  objections  are  overbalanced,  since 
I  have  proceeded  so  far  in  the  matter." 

"  Nay,  Master,  if  you  had  heard  me  out,"  said  his  noble 
relation,  "you  might  have  spared  that  observation;  for  with- 
out questioning  that  you  had  reasons  which  seemed  to  you  to 
counterbalance  every  other  obstacle,  I  set  myself,  by  every 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR:  20I 

ancans  that  it  became  me  to  use  toward  the  Ashtons,  to  per- 
suade them  to  meet  your  views." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  your  lordship  for  your  unsolicited  interces- 
sion," said  Ravenswood ;  "  especially  as  I  am  sure  3'our  lord- 
ship would  never  carry  it  beyond  the  bounds  which  it  became 
me  to  use." 

"Of  that,"  said  the  Marquis,  "you  may  be  confident;  I 
myself  felt  the  delicacy  of  the  matter  too  much  to  place  a  gen- 
tleman nearly  connected  with  my  house  in  a  degrading  or 
dubious  situation  with  these  Ashtons.  But  I  pointed  out  all 
the  advantages  of  their  marrying  their  daughter  into  a  house 
so  honorable,  and  so  nearly  related  with  the  first  in  Scotland ; 
I  explained  the  exact  degree  of  relationship  in  which  the  Ra- 
venswoods  stand  to  ourselves  \  and  I  even  hinted  how  political 
matters  were  like  to  turn,  and  what  cards  would  be  trumps 
next  Parliament.  I  said  I  regarded  you  as  a  son — or  a  nephew, 
or  so — rather  than  as  a  more  distant  relation  ;  and  that  I  made 
your  affair  entirely  my  own." 

"  And  what  was  the  issue  of  your  lordship's  explanation  }  " 
said  Ravenswood,  in  some  doubt  whether  he  should  resent  or 
express  gratitude  for  his  interference. 

"  Why,  the  Lord  Keeper  would  have  listened  to  reason," 
said  the  Marquis  j  "  he  is  rather  unwilling  to  leave  his  place, 
which,  in  the  present  view  of  a  change,  must  be  vacated  ;  and 
to  say  truth,  he  seemed  to  have  a  liking  for  you,  and  to  be 
sensible  of  the  general  advantages  to  be  attained  by  such  a 
match.     But  his  lady,  who  is  tongue  of  the  trump,  Master" 

"  What  of  Lady  Ashton,  my  lord  ? "  said  Ravenswood  • 
"let  me  know  the  issue  of  this  extraordinary  conference — I  can 
bear  it." 

"lam  glad  of  that,  kinsman,"  said  the  Marquis,  "fori 
am  ashamed  to  tell  you  half  what  she  said.  It  is  enough — he' 
mind  is  made  up — and  the  mistress  of  a  first-rale  boarding- 
school  could  not  have  rejected  with  more  haughty  indifference 
the  suit  of  a  half-pay  Irish  officer,  beseeching  permission  t'' 
wait  upon  the  heiress  of  a  West  India  planter,  than  Lady  Ash- 
ton spurned  every  proposal  of  mediation  which  it  could  at  al' 
become  me  to  offer  in  behalf  of  you,  my  good  kinsman.  I  can- 
not guess  what  she  means.  A  more  honorable  connection  she 
could  not  form,  that's  certain.  As  for  money  and  land,  that 
used  to  be  her  husband's  business  rather  than  hers  ;  I  really 
think  she  hates  you  for  having  the  rank  which  her  husband  has 
not,  and  perhaps  for  not  having  the  lands  that  her  good  man 
has.  But  I  should  only  vex  you  to  say  more  about  it — here  we 
gre  zX  the  change-house," 


,.*  1  •- 


20^  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  paused  as  he  entered  the  cot 
iage,  wliich  reeked  through  all  its  crevices,  and  they  were  not 
few,  from  the  exertions  of  the  Marquis's  traveHng-cooks  to 
supply  good  cheer,  and  spread,  as  it  were,  a  table  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

"  My  Lord  Marquis,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  I  already  men- 
tioned that  accident  has  put  your  lordship  in  possession  of  a 
secret  which,  with  my  consent,  should  have  remained  one  even 
to  you,  my  kinsman,  for  some  time.  Since  the  secret  was  to 
part  from  my  own  custody,  and  that  of  the  only  person  besides 
who  was  interested  in  it,  I  am  not  sorry  it  should  have  reached 
your  lordship's  ears,  as  being  fully  aware  that  you  are  my  noble 
kinsman  and  friend." 

"  You  may  believe  it  is  safely  lodged  with  me,  Master  of 
Ravenswood,"  said  the  Marquis  ;  "  but  I  should  like  well  to 
hear  you  say,  that  you  renounced  the  idea  of  an  alliance  which 
you  can  hardly  pursue  without  a  certain  degree  of  degrada 
tion." 

"  Of  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  judge,"  answered  Ravenswood, 
"  and,  I  hope,  with  delicacy  as  sensitive  as  any  of  my  friends. 
But  I  have  no  engagement  with  Sir  William  and  Lady  Ashton.  It 
is  with  Miss  Ashton  alone  that  I  have  entered  upon  the  subject, 
and  my  conduct  in  the  matter  shall  be  entirely  ruled  by  hers.  If 
she  continues  to  prefer  me  in  my  poverty  to  the  wealthier 
suitors  whom  her  friends  recommend,  I  may  well  make  some 
sacrifice  to  her  sincere  affection — I  may  well  surrender  to  her 
the  less  tangible  and  less  palpable  advantages  of  birth,  and  the 
dee{>rooted  prejudices  of  family  hatred.  If  Miss  Lucy  Ashton 
should  change  her  mind  on  a  subject  of  such  delicacy,  I  trust 
my  friends  will  be  silent  on  my  disappointment,  and  I  shall 
know  how  to  make  my  enemies  so." 

"  Spoke  like  a  gallant  young  nobleman,"  said  the  Marquis; 
"  for  my  part,  I  have  that  regard  for  you  that  I  should  be  sorry 
the  thing  went  on.  This  Sir  William  Ashton  was  a  pretty 
enough  pettifogging  kind  of  a  lawyer  twenty  years  ago,  and 
betwixt  battling  at  the  bar  and  leading  in  committees  of  Par- 
liament, he  has  got  well  on — the  Darien  matter  lent  him  a  lift, 
for  he  had  good  intelligence  and  sound  views,  and  sold  out  in 
time — but  the  best  work  is  had  out  of  him.  No  government 
will  take  him  at  his  own,  or  rather  his  wife's,  extravagant 
valuation  ;  and  betwixt  his  indecision  and  her  insolence,  from 
all  I  can  guess,  he  will  outsit  his  market  and  be  had  cheap 
when  no  one  will  bid  for  him.  I  say  nothing  of  Miss  Ashton ; 
but  I  assure  you  a  connection  with  her  father  will  be  neither 
useful  nor  ornamental,  beyond  that  part  of  your  father's  spoilt 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  203 

which  he  may  be  prevailed  upon  to  disgorge  by  way  of  tocher- 
good — and  take  my  word  for  it,  you  will  get  more  if  you  have 
spirit  to  bell  the  cat  with  him  in  the  House  of  Peers. — And  I 
will  be  the  man,  cousin,"  continued  his  lordship,  "  will  course 
the  fox  for  you,  and  make  him  rue  the  day  that  ever  he  refused 
a  composition  too  honorable  for  him,  and  proposed  by  me  on 
the  behalf  of  a  kinsman." 

There  was  something  in  all  this,  that,  as  it  were,  oversh  t 
the  mark.  Ravenswood  could  not  disguise  from  himself  that 
his  noble  kinsman  had  more  reasons  for  taking  offence  at  the 
reception  of  his  suit,  than  regarded  his  interest  and  honor,  yet 
he  could  neither  complain  nor  be  surprised  that  it  should  be  so. 
He  contented  himself  therefore  with  repeating,  that  his  at- 
tachment was  to  Miss  Ashton  personally;  that  he  desired 
neither  wealth  nor  aggrandizement  from  her  father's  means 
and  influence  ;  and  that  nothing  should  prevent  his  keeping 
his  engagement,  excepting  her  own  express  desire  that  it 
should  be  relinquished — and  he  requested  as  a  favor  that  the 
matter  might  be  no  more   mentioned  betwixt  them  at  present, 

assuring  the  Marquis  of  A that  he  should  be  his  confidant 

in  its  progress  or  its  interruption. 

The  Marquis  soon  had  more  agreeable,  as  well  as  more  in- 
teresting subjects  on  which  to  converse.  A  foot-post,  who  had 
followed  him  from  Edinburgh  to  Ravenswood  Castle,  and  had 
traced  his  steps  to  the  Tod's  Hole,  brought  him  a  packet  laden 
with  good  news.  The  political  calculations  of  the  Marquis  had 
proved  just,  both  in  London  and  at  Edinburgh,  and  he  saw 
almost  within  his  grasp  the  pre-eminence  for  which  he  had 
panted. — The  refreshments  which  the  servants  had  prepared 
were  now  put  on  the  table,  and  an  epicure  would  perhaps  have 
enjoyed  them  with  additional  zest,  from  the  contrast  which 
such  fare  afforded  to  the  miserable  cabin  in  which  it  was 
served  up. 

The  turn  of  conversation  corresponded  with  and  added  to 
the  social  feelings  of  the  companv.  The  Marquis  expanded 
with  pleasure  on  the  power  which  probable  incidents  were 
likely  to  assign  to  him,  and  on  the  use  which  he  hoped  to  make 
of  it  in  serving  his  kinsman  Ravenswood.  Ravenswood  could 
but  repeat  the  gratitude  which  he  really  felt,  even  when  he 
considered  the  topic  as  too  long  dwelt  upon.  The  wine  was  ex 
cellent,  notwithstandmg  its  having  been  brought  in  a  runlet 
from  Edinburgh  ;  and  the  habits  of  the  Marq-.iis,  when  engaged 
with  such  good  cheer,  were  somewhat  sedentary.  And  so  it 
fell  out  that  they  delayed  their  journey  two  hours  later  than 
was  their  original  purpose. 


id4 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMEHMOO^. 


"  But  what  of  that,  my  good  young  friend  ?  "  said  th.e  Mar 
quis  ;  'your  Castle  of  Wolf's  Crag  is  but  five  or  six  miles'  dis- 
jance,  and  will  afford  the  same  hospitality  to  your  kinsman  ol 
A that  it  gave  to  this  same  Sir  William  Ashton." 

"  Sir  William  took  the  castle  by  storm,"  said  Ravenswood, 
"  and,  like  many  a  victor,  had  little  reason  to  congratulate, 
himself  on  his  conquest.' 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Lord  A ,  whose  dignity  was  some- 
thing relaxed  by  the  wine  he  had  drunk, — "I  see  I  must  bribe 
you  to  harbor  me — Come,  pledge  me  in  a  bumper  health  to 
the  last  young  lady  that  slept  at  Wolf's  Crag,  and  liked  her 
quarters. — My  bones  are  not  so  tender  as  hers,  and  I  am 
resolved  to  occupy  her  apartment  to-night,  that  I  may  judge 
how  hard  the  couch  is  that  love  can  soften." 

"  Your  lordship  may  choose  what  penance  you  please,"  said 
Ravenswood  ;  "  but  I  assure  you,  I  should  expect  my  old  ser- 
vant to  hang  himself,  or  throw  himself  from  the  battlements, 
should  your  lordship  visit  him  so  unexpectedly — I  do  assure 
you,  we  are  totally  and  literally  unprovided." 

But  his  declaration  only  brought  from  his  noble  patron  an 
assurance  of  his  own  total  indifference  as  to  every  species  of 
accommodation,  and  his  determination  to  see  the  Tower  of 
Wolf's  Crag.  His  ancestor,  he  said,  had  been  feasted  there, 
when  he  went  forward  with  the  then  Lord  Ravenswood  to  the 
fatal  l^attle  of  Flodden,  in  which  they  both  fell.  Thus  hard 
pressed,  the  Master  offered  to  ride  forward  to  get  matters  put 
in  such  preparation  as  time  and  circumstances  admitted ;  but 
the  Marquis  protested  his  kinsman  must  afford  him  his  com- 
pany, and  would  only  consent  that  an  avant-courier  should 
carry  to  the  destined  seneschal,  Caleb  Balderston,  the  unex- 
pected news  of  this  invasion. 

The  Alaster  of  Ravenswood  soon  after  accompanied  the 
Marquis  in  his  carriage,  as  the  latter  had  proposed  ;  and  when 
tiiey  became  better  acquainted  in  the  progress  of  the  journey, 
his  noble  relation  explained  the  very  liberal  views  which  he 
entertained  for  his  relation's  preferment,  in  case  of  the  success 
of  his  own  political  schemes.  They  related  to  a  secret  and 
highly  important  commission  beyond  sea,  which  could  only  be 
intrusted  to  a  person  of  rank,  and  talent,  and  perfect  confidence, 
and  which  as  it  required  great  trust  and  reliance  on  the  envoy 
employed,  could  not  but  prove  both  honorable  and  advantage- 
ous to  him.  We  need  not  enter  into  the  nature  and  purpose  of 
this  commission  further  than  to  acquaint  our  readers  that  the 
charge  was  in  prospect  highly  acceptable  to  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  whf  hailed  with  pleasure  the  hope  of  emerging 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  203 

from  his  present  state  of  indigence  and  inaction,  into  independ- 
ence and  honorable  exertion.  While  he  listened  thus  eagerly 
to  the  details  with  which  the  Marquis  now  thought  it  necessary 
to  intrust  him,  the  messenger  who  had  been  despatched  to  the 
tower  of  Wolf's  Crag,  returned  with  Caleb  Balderston's  humble 
duty,  and  an  assurance  that  "  a'  should  be  in  seemly  order,  sic 
as  the  hurry  of  time  permitted,  to  receive  their  lordships  as  it 
behoved." 

Ravensood  was  too  well  accustomed  to  his  seneschal's  mode 
of  acting  and  speaking  to  hope  much  from  this  confident  as- 
surance.    He  knew  that  Caleb  acted  upon  the  principle  of  the 

Spanish  generals,  in  the  campaign  of ,  who,   much  to   the 

perplexity  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  their  commander-m-chief, 
used  to  report  their  troops  as  full  in  number,  and  possessed  of 
all  necessary  points  of  equipment,  not  considering  it  consistent 
with  their  dignity,  or  the  honor  of  Spain,  to  confess  any  defi- 
ciency either  in  men  or  munition,  until  the  want  of  both  was 
unavoidably  discovered  in  the  day  of  battle.  Accordingly, 
Ravenswood  thought  it  necessary  to  give  the  Marquis  some 
hint,  that  the  fair  assurance  which  they  had  just  received  from 
Caleb,  did  not  by  any  means  insure  them  against  a  very  indif- 
ferent reception. 

*'  You  do  yourself  injustice,  Master,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  or 
5'^ou  wish  to  surprise  me  agreeably.  From  this  window  I  see  a 
great  light  ia  the  direction  where,  if  I  remember  aright.  Wolf's 
Crag  lies  ;  and,  to  judge  from  the  splendor  which  the  old  Tower 
sheds  around  it,  the  preparations  for  our  reception  must  be  of 
no  ordinary  description.  I  remember  your  father  putting  the 
same  deception  on  me,  when  we  went  to  the  Tower  for  a  few 
days'  hawking,  about  twenty  years  since,  and  yet  we  spent  our 
time  as  jollily  at  Wolf's  Crag,  as  we  could  have  done  at  my  own 
hunting  seat  at  B ." 

"  Your  lordship,  1  fear,  will  experience  that  the  faculty  of 
the  present  proprietor  to  entertain  his  friends  is  greatly 
abridged,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  the  will,  I  need  hardly  say,  re- 
mains the  same.  But  I  am  as  much  at  a  loss  as  your  lordship 
to  account  for  so  strong  and  brilliant  a  light  as  is  now  above 
Wolf's  Crag, —  the  windows  of  the  Tower  are  few  and  narrow, 
and  those  of  the  lower  storey  are  hidden  from  us  by  the  walls  of 
the  court.  I  cannot  conceive  that  any  illumination  of  an  ordi- 
nary nature  could  afford  such  a  blaze  of  light." 

The  mystery  was  soon  explained  ;  for  the  cavalcade  almost 
instantly  halted,  and  the  voice  of  Caleb  Balderston  was  her.rd 
at  the  coach  window,  exclaiming,  in  accents  broken  by  grief  and 
fear,  "  Och,  gentlemen — Och,  my  gude  lords — Och,  haud  to  tho 


206  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

right! — Wolf's  Crag  is  burning,  bower  and  Ixa' — a'  the  rich 
plenishing  outside  and  inside — a'  the  fine  graith,  pictures  tapes- 
tries, needle-wark,  hangings,  and  other  decorements — a'  in  a 
bleeze,  as  if  they  were  nae  mair  than  sac  mony  peats,  or  as 
muckle  peas  strae  !  Haud  to  the  right,  gentlemen,  I  implore 
ye — there  is  some  sma'  provision  making  at  Lucky  Sma'trash's 
— but  O,  wae  for  this  night,  and  wae  for  me  that  lives  to  see 
it!" 

Ravenswood  was  at  first  stunned  by  this  new  and  unexpected 
calamity  ;  but  after  a  moment's  recollection,  he  sprang  from 
the  carriage,  and  hastily  bidding  his  noble  kinsman  good-night, 
was  about  to  ascend  the  hill  toward  the  castle,  the  broad  and 
full  conflagration  of  which  now  flung  forth  a  high  column  of  red 
light,  that  flickered  far  to  seaward  upon  the  dashing  waves  of 
the  ocean, 

"  Take  a  horse.  Master,''  exclaimed  the  INIarquis,  greatly 
affected  by  this  additional  misfortune,  so  unexpectedly  heaped 
upon  his  young  protege  ;  "and  give  me  my  ambling  palfrey i, — 
and  haste  forward,  you  knaves,  to  see  what  can  be  done  to  save 
the  furniture,  or  to  extinguish  the  fire — ride,  you  knaves,  for 
your  lives  !  " 

The  attendants  bustled  together,  and  began  to  strike  their 
horses  with  the  spur,  and  call  upon  Caleb  to  show  them  the 
road.  But  the  voice  of  that  careful  seneschal  was  heard  above 
the  tumult,  "  O  stop — sirs,  stop — turn  bridle,  for  the  love  of 
mercy — add  not  loss  of  lives  to  the  loss  of  warld's  gear  ! — 
Thirty  barrels  of  pouther,  landed  out  of  a  Dunkirk  dogger  in 
the  auld  lord's  time  a'  in  the  vau'ts  of  the  auld  tower, — the  fire 
canna  be  far  aff  it,  I  trow — Lord's  sake,  to  the  right,  lads — to 
the  right — let's  pit  the  hill  atween  us  and  peril — a  wap  wi'  a 
corner-stane  o'  Wolf's  Crag  wad  defy  the  doctor  !  " 

It  will  readily  be  supposed  that  this  annunciation  hurried 
the  Marquis  and  his  attendants  into  the  route  which  Caleb  pre- 
scribed, dragging  Ravenswood  along  with  them,  although  there 
was  much  in  the  matter  which  he  could  not  possibly  compre- 
hend. "  Gunpowder  !  "  he  exclaimed,  laying  hold  of  Caleb,  who 
in  vain  endeavored  to  escape  from  him,  "what  gunpowder.? 
How  any  quantity  of  powder  could  be  in  Wolf's  Crag  without 
my  knowledge,  I  cannot  possibly  comprehend." 

"  But  I  can,"  interrupted  the  Marquis,  whispering  him,  "  I 
can  comprehend  it  thoroughly — for  God's  sake,  ask  him  no  more 
questions  at  present." 

"  There  it  is  now,"  said  Caleb,  extricating  himself  from  his 
master,  and  adjusting  his  dress,  "your  honor  will  believe  his 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  207 

lordship's  honorable  testimony^^His  lordship  minds  weel;  hbw, 
in  the  year  that  him  they  ca'd  King  Willie  died  " 

"  Hush  !  hush,  my  good  friend  !  "  said  the  Marquis :  "  I 
shall  satisfy  your  master  upon  that  subject." 

"  And  the  people  at  Wolf's  Hope " — said  Ravenswood, 
"  did  none  of  them  come  to  your  assistance  before  the  flame 
got  so  high  ?  " 

"  Ay  did  they,  mony  ane  of  them,  the  rapscallions  !  "  said 
Caleb ;  "  but  truly  I  was  in  nae  hurry  to  let  them  into  the 
Tower,  where  there  were  so  much  plate  and  valuables." 

"Confound  3-ou  for  an  impudent  liar!"  said  Ravenswood, 
in  uncontrolable  ire,  "  there  was  not  a  single  ounce  of  " 

"  Forby,"  said  the  butler,  most  irreverently  raising  his 
voice  to  a  pitch  which  drowned  his  master's,  "  the  fire  made  fast 
on  us,  owing  to  the  store  of  tapestry  and  carved  timmer  in  the 
banqueting  ha',  and  the  loons  ran  like  scauded  rats  sae  sune  as 
they  heard  of  the  gunpouther." 

"  I  do  entreat,"  said  the  Marquis  to  Ravenswood,  "  you  will 
ask  him  no  more  questions." 

"  Only  one,  my  lord — What  has  become  of  poor  Mysie  ? " 

"  Mysie  ?  "  said  Caleb,  "  I  had  nae  time  to  look  about  ony 
Mysie — she's  in  the  Tower,  I'se  warrant,  biding  her  awful 
doom." 

"  By  Heaven,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  I  do  not  understand  all 
this  !  The  life  of  a  faithful  old  creature  is  at  stake — my  lord, 
I  will  be  withheld  no  longer — I  will  at  least  ride  up,  and  see 
whether  the  danger  is  as  imminent  as  this  old  fool  pretends." 

"  Weel,  then,  as  I  live  by  bread,"  said  Caleb,  "  Mysie  is 
weel  and  safe.  I  saw  her  out  of  the  castle  before  I  left  it  my- 
self.    Was  I  ganging  to  forget  an  auld  fellow-servant  ?  " 

"What  made  you  tell  me  the  contrary  this  moment?"  said 
his  master. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  the  contrary  ?  "  said  Caleb  ;  "  then  I  maun 
hae  been  dreaming  surely,  or  this  awsome  night  has  turned  my 
judgment — but  safe  she  is,  and  ne'er  a  living  soul  in  the 
castle,  a'  the  better  for  them — they  wad  have  gotten  an  unco 
heezy." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood,  upon  this  assurance  being 
solemnly  reiterated,  and  notwithstanding  his  extreme  wish  to 
witness  the  last  explosion,  which  was  to  ruin  to  the  ground  the 
mansion  of  his  fathers,  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  onward 
toward  the  village  of  Wolf's  Hope,  where  not  only  the  change- 
house,  but  that  of  our  well-known  friend  the  cooper,  were  all 
prepared  for  reception  of  himself  and  his  noble  guest,  with  a 
liberality  of  provision  which  requires  some  explanation. 


2o8  ^-^^-^  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

We  omitted  to  mention  in  its  place,  that  Lockhard,  having 
fished  out  the  truth  concerning  the  mode  by  which  Caleb  had 
obtained  the  supplies  for  his  banquet,  tlie  Lord  Keeper,  amused 
with  the  incident,  and  desirous  at  the  time  to  gratify  Ravens- 
wood,  had  recommended  the  cooper  of  Wolf's  Hope  to  the 
official  situation  under  Government,  the  prospect  of  which  had 
reconciled  him  to  the  loss  of  his  wild-fowl.  Mr.  Girder's  pre- 
ferment had  occasioned  a  pleasing  surprise  to  old  Caleb ;  for 
when,  some  days  after  his  master's  departure,  he  found  himself 
absolutely  compelled,  by  some  necessary  business,  to  visit  the 
fishing  hamlet,  and  was  gliding  like  a  ghost  past  the  door  of 
the  cooper,  for  fear  of  being  summoned  to  give  some  account 
of  the  progress  of  the  solicitation  in  his  favor,  or,  more  prob- 
ably, that  the  inmates  might  upbraid  him  with  the  false  hope  he 
had  held  out  upon  the  subject,  he  heard  himself,  not  without 
some  apprehension,  summoned  at  once  in  treble,  tenor,  and 
bass, — a  trio  performed  by  the  voices  of  Mrs.  Girder,  old 
,Dame  Loup-the-Dyke,  and  the  good  man  of  the  dwelling — 
"  Mr.  Caleb — Mr.  Caleb — Mr.  Caleb  Balderston  !  I  hope  ye 
arena  ganging  dry-lipped  by  our  door,  and  we  sae  muckle  in- 
debted to  you  ?  " 

This  might  be  said  ironically  as  well  as  in  earnest.  Caleb 
augured  the  worst,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  trio  aforesaid,  and 
was  moving  doggedly  on,  his  ancient  castor  pulled  over  his 
brows,  and  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  as  if  to  count  the 
flinty  pebbles  with  which  the  rude  pathway  was  causewayed. 
But  on  a  sudden  he  found  himself  surrounded  in  his  progress, 
like  a  stately  merchantman  in  the  Gut  of  Gibraltar  (I  hope  the 
ladies  will  excuse  the  tarpaulin  phrase)  by  three  Algerine 
galleys. 

"Gude  guide  us,  Mr.  Balderston  !  "  said  Mrs.  Girder. 

"  Wha  wad  hae  thought  it  of  an  auld  and  kend  friend  ?  " 
said  the  mother. 

"  And  no  sae  muckle  as  to  stay  to  receive  our  thanks,"  said 
the  cooper  himself,  "and  frae  the  like  o'  me  that  seldom  offers 
tliem  1  1  am  sure  I  hope  there's  nae  ill  seed  sawn  between  us, 
Mr.  Balderston. — Ony  man  that  has  said  to  ye,  I  am  no  grate- 
fu'  for  the  situation  of  Queen's  cooper,  let  me  hae  a  whample 
at  him  wi'  mine  catche* — that's  a'." 

,"  My  good  friends — my  dear  friends,"  said  Caleb,  still  doubt- 
ing how  the  certainty  of  the  matter  might  stand,  "  what  needs 
a'  this  ceremony  ? — ane  tries  to  serve  their  friends,  and  some- 
times they  may  happen  to  prosper,  and  sometimes  to  misgic — 

*Anglice,  Adz«. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


209 


naethingi  care  to  be  fashed  wi'  less  than  thanks — I  never  could 
bide  them." 

"  Faith,  Mr.  Balderston,  3'e  suld  hae  been  fashed  wi'  few  o' 
mine,"  said  the  downright  man  of  staves  and  hoops,  "  If  I  had 
only  your  gude-will  to  thank  ye  for — I  suld  e'en  hae  set  the 
guse,  and  the  wild  deukes,  and  the  runlet  of  sack,  to  balance 
that  account.  Gude-will,  man,  is  a  geizen'd  tub,  that  bauds 
in  nae  liquor — but  gude-deed's  like  the  cask  tight,  round,  and 
sound,  that  will  baud  liquor  for  the  king." 

"  Have  ye  no  heard  of  our  letter,"  said  the  mother-in-law, 
"  making  our  John  the  Queen's  cooper  for  certain  1 — and 
scarce  a  chield  that  had  ever  hammered  gird  upon  tub  but  was 
applying  for  it  ?  " 

"  Have  I  heard  !  !  !  "  said  Caleb  (who  now  found  how  the 
wind  set),  with  an  accent  of  exceeding  contempt  at  the  doubt 
expressed — "  Have  I  heard,  quo'  she  !  !  !  " — and  as  he  spoke, 
he  changed  his  shambling,  skulking,  dodging  pace,  into  a  manly 
and  authoritative  step,  re-adjusted  his  cocked  hat,  and  suffered 
his  brow  to  emerge  from  under  it  in  all  the  pride  of  aristocracy, 
like  the  sun  from  behind  a  cloud. 

"  To  be  sure  he  canna  but  hae  heard,"  said  the  good 
woman. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,  it's  impossible  but  I  should,"  said  Caleb  i 
"  and  sae  I'll  be  the  first  to  kiss  ye,  joe,  and  wish  you,  cooper, 
much  joy  of  your  preferment,  naething  doubting  but  ye  ken 
wha  are  your  friends,  and  have  helped  ye,  and  can  help  ye.  I 
thought  it  right  to  look  a  wee  strange  upon  it  at  first,"  added 
Caleb,  "  just  to  see  if  ye  were  made  of  the  right  mettle — but 
ye  ring  true,  lad,  ye  ring  true  !  " 

So  saying,  with  a  most  lordly  air  he  kissed  the  woman,  and 
abandoned  his  hand,  with  an  air  of  serene  patronage,  to  the 
hearty  shake  of  Mr.  Girder's  horn-hard  palm.  Upon  this  com- 
plete, and  to  Caleb  most  satisfactory,  informstion,  he  did  not, 
it  may  readily  be  believed,  hesitate  to  accept  an  invitation  to 
a  solemn  feast,  to  which  were  invited,  not  only  all  the  notables  of 
the  village,  but  even  his  ancient  antagonist  Mr.  Dingwall  him- 
self At  this  festivity  he  was,  of  course,  the  most  welcome  and 
most  honored  guest  ;  and  so  well  did  he  ply  the  company  with 
stories  of  what  he  could  do  with  his  master,  his  master  with  the 
Lord  Keeper,  the  Lord  Keeper  with  the  Council,  and  the  Council 
with  the  King,  that  before  the  company  dismissed  (which  was, 
indeed,  rather  at  an  early  hour  than  a  late  one),  every  man  of 
note  in  the  village  was  ascending  to  the  top-gallant  of  some 
ideal  preferment  by  the  ladder  of  ropes  which  Caleb  had  pre- 
sented to  their  imagination.    Nay,  the  cunning  butler  regained 


9IO 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


in  that  moment,  not  only  all  the  influence  he  possessed  formerly 
over  the  villagers,  when  the  baronial  family  which  he  served 
were  at  the  proudest,  but  acquired  even  an  accession  of  im- 
portance. The  writer — the  very  attorney  himself — such  is 
the  thirst  of  preferment — felt  the  force  of  the  attraction,  and 
taking  an  opportunity  to  draw  Caleb  into  a  corner,  spoke,  with 
affectionate  regret,  of  the  declining  health  of  the  sheriff-clerk 
of  the  county, 

"  An  excellent  man — a  most  valuable  man,  Mr.  Caleb — but 
fat  sail  I  say  ! — we  are  peer  feckless  bodies — here  the  day,  and 
awa  by  cock-screech  the  morn — and  if  he  failzies,  there  maun 
be  somebody  in  his  place — and  gif  that  ye  could  airt  it  my 
way,  I  sail  be  thankful,  man — a  gluve  stuffed  wi'  gowd  nobles 
— an'  hark  ye,  man,  something  canny  till  yoursell — and  the 
Wolf's  Hope  carles  to  settle  kindly  wi'  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood, — that  is,  Lord  Ravenswood — God  bless  his  lordship  !  " 

A  smile,  and  a  hearty  squeeze  by  the  hand,  was  the  suitable 
answer  to  this  overture — and  Caleb  made  his  escape  from  the 
jovial  party  in  order  to  avoid  committing  himself  by  any  special 
promises. 

"  The  Lord  be  gude  to  me  !  "  said  Caleb,  when  he  found 
himself  in  the  open  air,  and  at  liberty  to  give  vent  to  the  self- 
exultation  with  which  he  was,  as  it  were,  distended  ;  "  did  ever 
ony  man  see  sic  a  set  of  green-gaislings  ! — the  very  pick-maws 
and  solan-geese  out  by  yonder  at  the  Bass  hae  ten  times  their 
sense  ! — God,  an  I  had  been  the  Lord  High  Commissioner  to 
the  Estates  o'  Parliament,  they  couldna  hae  beflummed  me 
mair — and  to  speak  Heaven's  truth,  I  could  hardly  hae  be- 
flummed them  better  neither  !  But  the  writer — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
—ah,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  mercy  on  me  that  I  suld  live  in  my  auld  days 
to  gie  the  gang-by  to  the  very  writer  ! — Sheriff-clerk  !  !  ! — 
But  I  hae  an  auld  account  to  settle  wi'  the  carle  ;  and  to  make 
amends  for  byganes,  the  office  shall  just  cost  him  as  much  time- 
serving as  if  he  were  to  get  in  gude  earnest — of  whilk  there 
is  sma'  appearance,  unless  the  Master  learns  mair  the  ways 
of  this  warld,  whilk  it  is  muckle  to  be  doubted  that  he  ever 
will  do." 


•^\^ 


JI^X, 


TUS  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  %i\ 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIFTH. 

Why  flames  the  far  summit — why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast?— 
*Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyry,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  Heaven. 

Campbell. 

The  circumstances  announced  in  the  conclusion  of  the  last 
chapter,  will  account  for  the   ready  and  cheerful  reception  of 

the   Marquis  of  A and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  in  the 

village  of  Wolf's  Hope.  In  fact,  Caleb  had  no  sooner  announced 
the  conflagration  of  the  Tower  than  the  whole  hamlet  were 
upon  foot  to  hasten  to  extinguish  the  flames.  And  although 
that  zealous  adherent  diverted  their  zeal  by  intimating  the 
formidable  contents  of  the  subterranean  apartment,  yet  the 
check  only  turned  their  assiduity  into  another  direction.  Never 
had  there  been  such  slaughtering  of  capons,  and  fat  geese,  and 
barn-door  fowls, — never  such  boiling  of  recsted  hams, — never  t  , 
such  making  of  car-cakes  and  sweet  scones,  Selkirk  bannocks,j)  ^  ^p 
cookies,  and  pe_tticoat-tails, — delicacies  little  known  to  the''  '\ 
present  generation.  ~  "Never  had  there  been  such  a  tapping  of  \.j^ 
barrels,  and  such  uncorking  of  graybeards,  in  the  village  ol 
Wolf's  Hope.  All  the  inferior  houses  were  thrown  open  for  the 
reception  of  the  Marquis's  dependants,  who  came,  it  was 
thought,  as  precursors  of  the  shower  of  preferment,  which  here- 
after was  to  leave  the  rest  of  Scotland  dr}',  in  order  to  distil  its 
rich  dews  on  the  village  of  Wolf's  Hope  under  Lammermoor 
The  minister  put  in  his  claim  to  have  the  guests  of  distinction 
lodged  at  the  Manse,  having  his  eye,  it  was  thought,  upon  a 
neighboring  preferment,  where  the  incumbent  was  sickly  ;  but 
Mr.  Balderston  destined  that  honor  to  the  cooper,  his  wife,  and 
wife's  mother,  who  danced  for  joy  at  the  preference  thus  as- 
signed them. 

Many  a  beck  and  many  a  bow  welcomed  these  noble  guests 
to  as  good  entertainment  as  persons  of  such  rank  could  set 
before  such  visitors  ;  and  the  old  dame,  who  had  formerly  lived 
in  Ravenswood  Castle,  and  knew,  as  she  said,  the  ways  of  the 
nobility,  was  in  no  whit  wanting  in  arranging  matters,  as  well 
as  circumstances  permitted,  according  to  the  etiquette  of  the 
times.  The  cooper's  house  was  so  roomy,  that  each  guest  had 
his  separate  retiring  room,  to  which  they  were  ushered  with  all 


lij  THE  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

due  ceremony,  while  the  plentiful  supper  was  in  the  act  of  being 
placed  upon  the  table. 

Ravenswo  id  no  sooner  found  himself  alone,  than,  impelled 
by  a  thousand  feelings,  he  left  the  apartment,  the  house,  and 
the  village,  and  hastily  retraced  his  steps  to  the  brow  of  th-; 
hill,  which  rose  betwixt  the  village,  and  screened  it  from  the 
tower,  in  order  to  view  the  final  fall  of  the  house  of  his  fathers. 
Some  idle  boys  from  the  hamlet  had  taken  the  same  direction 
out  of  curiosity,  having  first  witnessed  the  arrival  of  the  coach- 
and-six  and  its  attendants.  As  they  ran  one  by  one  past  the 
Master,  calling  to  each  other  to  "  come  and  see  the  auld  tower 
blaw  up  in  the  lift  like  the  peelings  of  an  ingan,"  he  could  not 
but  feel  himself  moved  with  indignation.  "  And  these  are  the 
sons  of  my  father's  vassals,"  he  said — "  of  men  bound,  both  by 
law  and  gratitude,  to  follow  our  steps  through  battle,  and  fire, 
and  flood  ;  and  now  the  destruction  of  their  liege-lord's  house  is 
but  a  holiday's  sight  to  them  !  " 

These  exasperating  reflections  were  partly  expressed  in  the 
acrimony  with  which  he  exclaimed,  on  feeling  himself  pulled  by 
the  cloak, — "  What  do  you  want,  you  dog  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  dog,  and  an  auld  dog  too,"  answered  Caleb,  for  it 
was  he  who  had  taken  the  freedom,  "  and  I  am  like  to  get  a 
dog's  wages — but  it  does  not  signification  a  pinch  of  sneeshing, 
for  I  am  ower  auld  a  dog  to  learn  new  tricks,  or  to  follow  a  new 
master." 

As  he  spoke,  Ravenswood  attained  the  ridge  of  the  hill  from 
which  Wolf's  Crag  was  visible  ;  the  flames  had  entirely  sunk 
down,  and  to  his  great  surprise,  there  was  only  a  dusky  redden- 
ing upon  the  clouds  immediately  over  the  castle,  which  seemed 
the  reflection  of  the  embers  of  the  sunken  fire. 

"  The  place  cannot  have  blown  up,"  said  the  Master  ;  "  we 
must  have  heard  the  report — if  a  quarter  of  the  gunpowder 
was  there  you  tell  me  of,  it  would  have  been  heard  twenty 
miles  off." 

"  It's  very  like  it  wad,"  said  Balderston,  composedly. 

"  Then  the  fire  cannot  have  reached  the  vaults  ?  " 

"  It's  like  no,"  answered  Caleb,  with  the  same  impenetrable 
gravity. 

"  Hark  ye,  Caleb,"  said  his  master,  "  this  grows  a  little  too 
much  for  my  patience.  I  must  go  and  examine  how  matters 
stand  at  Wolf's  Crag  myself." 

"  Your  honor  is  ganging  to  gang  nae  sic  gate,"  said  Caleb, 
firmly. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Ravenswood,  sharply  ;  "  who  or  what 
shall  prevent  me  ?  " 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


213 


"Even  I  mysell,"'  said  Caleb,  with  the  same  determination. 

**  You,  Balderston  !  "  replied  the  Master ;  ''  you  are  for- 
getting yourself,  I  think." 

"  But  I  think  no,"  sn.id  Balderston  ;  "  for  I  can  just  tell  ye 
a'  about  the  castle  oi;  thi';  knowe-head  as  weel  as  if  ye  were 
at  it.  Only  dinna  pit  yoursell  into  a  kippage,  and  expose 
yoursell  before  the  weans,  or  before  the  Marquis,  when  ye  gang 
downby." 

"Speak  out,  you  old  fool,"  replied  his  mast-r,  "  and  let  me 
know  the  best  and  the  worst  at  once." 

'  Ou,  the  best  and  the  warst  is,  just  that  the  tower  is  stand 
ing  hale  and  feir,  as  safe  and  as  empty  as  when  ye  left  it." 

"  Indeed  ! — and  the  fire  .-'  "  said  Ravenswood. 

"Not  a  gleed  of  fire,  then,  except  the  bit  kindling  peat,  and 
maybe  a  spunk  in  M3^sie's  cutty-pipe,"  replied  Caleb. 

"  But  the  flame  !  "  demanded  Ravenswood  ;  "  the  broad 
blaze  which  might  have  been  seen  ten  miles  off — what 
occasioned  that  ? " 

*'  Hout  awa  !  it's  an  auld  saying  and  a  true, — 

Little's  the  light 

Will  be  seen  in  a  mirk  night. 

A  wheen  fern  and  horse  litter  that  I  fired  in  the  courtyard, 
after  sending  back  the  loon  of  a  footman ;  and,  to  speak 
Heaven's  truth,  the  next  time  that  ye  send  or  bring  ony  body 
here,  let  them  be  gentles,  allenarly  without  ony  fremd  servants, 
like  that  chield  Lockhard,  to  be  gledging  and  gleeing  about, 
and  looking  upon  the  wrang  side  of  ane's  housekeeping,  to  the 
discredit  of  the  family,  and  forcing  ane  to  damn  their  souls  wi' 
telling  ae  lee  after  another  faster  than  lean  count  them — I  wad 
rather  set  fire  to  the  tower  in  gude  earnest,  and  burn  it  owei 
my  ain  head  into  the  bargain,  or  I  see  the  family  dishonored  in 
the  sort." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  am  infinitely  obliged  by  the  proposal, 
Caleb,"  said  his  master,  scarce  able  to  restrain  his  laughter, 
though  rather  angry  at  the  same  time.  "  But  the  gunpowder } 
— is  there  such  a  thing  in  the  tower  ? — the  Marquis  seemed  to 
know  of  it." 

"  The  pouther — ha !  ha  !  ha  ! — the  Marquis — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 
replied  Caleb  ;  "  if  your  honor  were  to  brain  me,  I  behoved 
to  laugh — the  Marquis — the  pouther! — was  it  there.''  ay,  it  was 
there.  Did  he  ken  o't  ! — my  certie  !  the  Marquis  kend  o't,  and 
it  was  the  best  o'  the  game  ;  for,  when  I  could  not  pacify  your 
honor  wi'  a'  that  I  could  say,  I  aye  threw  out  a  word  mail 


»I4 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LA2>IMERMOOR. 


about  the  gunpouther,  and  garr'dthe  Marquis  tak  the  job  in  his 
ain  hand." 

^  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question,"  said  the 
Master,  impatiently  ;  "  how  came  the  pov/der  there,  and  where 
is  it  now    " 

"  Ou,  it  came  there,  an  ye  maun  needs  ken,"  said  Caleb, 
looking  mysteriously,  and  whispering,  "  when  there  was  like  to 
be  a  wee  bit  rising  here  ;  and  the  Marquis,  and  a'  the  great 
lords  o'  the  north,  were  a'  in  it,  and  mony  a  gudely  gun  and 
broadsword  were  ferried  ower  frae  Dunkirk  forby  the  pouther — 
awfu'  wark  we  had  getting  them  into  the  tower  under  cloud  o' 
night,  for  ye  maun  think  it  wasna  everybody  could  be  trusted 
wi'  sic  kittle  jobs — But  if  ye  will  gae  hame  to  your  supper,  I 
will  tell  ye  a'  about  it  as  ye  gang  down." 

"  And  these  wretched  boys,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  is  it  your 
pleasure  they  are  to  sit  there  all  night,  to  wait  for  the  blowing 
up  of  a  tower  that  is  not  even  on  fire  ?  " 

"  Surely  not,  if  it  is  your  honor's  pleasure  that  they  suld 
gang  hame  ;  although,"  added  Caleb,  "  it  wadna  do  them  a 
grain's  damage — they  wad  screigh  less  the  next  day,  and  sleep 
the  sounder  at  e'en — But  just  as  your  honor  lil:es." 

Stepping  accordingly  toward  the  urchins  who  manned  the 
knolls  near  which  they  stood,  Caleb  informed  them,  in  an 
authoritative   tone,   that    their  honors    Lord   Ravenswood   and 

the  Marquis  of  A had  given  orders  that  the  tower  was  not 

to  blow  up  till  next  day  at  noon.  The  boys  dispersed  upon 
this  comfortable  assurance.  One  or  two,  however,  followed 
Caleb  for  more  information,  particularly  the  urchin  whom  he 
had  cheated  while  officiating  as  turnspit,  who  screamed,  "  INIr. 
Balderston  !  Mr.  Balderston's  !  than  the  castle's  gane  out  like  an 
auld  wife's  spunk  .''  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,  callant,"  said  the  butler  \  "  do  ye  think 
the  castle  of  as  great  a  lord  as  Lord  Ravenswood  wad  continue 
in  a  bleeze,  and  him  standing  looking  on  wi'  his  ain  very  een  ? 
— It"s  aye  right,"  continued  Caleb,  shaking  off  his  ragged  page, 
and  closing  in  to  his  master,  "  to  train  up  weans,  as  the  wise 
man  says,  in  the  way  they  should  go,  and,  aboon  a',  to  teach 
them  respect  to  their  superiors." 

"  But  all  this  while,  Caleb,  you  have  never  told  me  what 
became  of  the  arms  and  powder,"  said  Ravenswood. 

'*  Why  as  for  the  arms,"  said  Caleb,  "  it  was  just  like  the 
bairns'  rhyme — 

CSome  gaed  east,  and  some  gaed  west,     . 
^nd  some  gaed  to  the  craw's  nest ;        ; 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


215 


And  for  the  pouther,  I  e'en  changed  it,  as  occasion  served,  with 
the  skippers  o'  Dutch  luggers  and  French  vessels,  for  gin  and 
brandy,  and  it  served  the  house  mony  a  year — a  good  swap  too, 
between  what  cheereth  the  soul  of  man  and  that  which  dingeth 
it  clean  out  of  his  body ;  forby  I  keepit  a  wheen  pounds  of  it 
for  yoursell  when  ye  wanted  to  take  the  pleasure  o'  shooting — • 
whiles,  in  these  latter  days,  I  wad  hardly  hae  kend  else  whar  to 
get  pouther  for  your  pleasure. — And  now  that  your  anger  is 
ower,  sir,  wasna  that  weel  managed  o'  me,  and  arena  you  far 
better  sorted  down  yonder,  than  ye  could  hae  been  in  your  ain 
auld  ruins  upby  yonder,  as  the  case  stands  wi'  us  now  ? — the 
mair's  the  pity." 

"  I  believe  you  may  be  right,  Caleb  ;  but,  before  burning 
down  my  castle,  either  in  jest  or  in  earnest,"  said  Ravenswood, 
"  I  think  I  had  a  right  to  be  in  the  secret." 

"  Fie  for  shame,  your  honor  !  "  replied  Caleb  ;  "  it  fits  an 
auld  carle  like  me  weel  eneugh  to  tell  lees  for  the  credit  of  the 
family,  but  it  wadna  beseem  the  like  o'  your  honor's  sell  ; 
besides,  young  folk  are  no  judicious — they  cannot  make  the 
maist  of  a  bit  figment.  Now  this  fire — for  a  fire  it  shall  be,  if 
I  suld  burn  the  auld  stable  to  make  it  mair  feasible — this  fire, 
besides  that  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  asking  onything  we  want 
through  the  country,  or  doun  at  the  haven — this  fire  will  settle 
mony  things  on  an  honorable  footing  for  the  family's  credit, 
that  cost  me  telling  twenty  daily  lees  to  a  wheen  idle  chaps  and 
queans,  and  what's  waur,  without  gaining  credence." 

"  That  was  hard,  indeed,  Caleb  ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  this 
fire  should  help  your  veracity  or  your  credit." 

"  There  it  is  now !  "  said  Caleb  ;  "  wasna  I  saying  that  young 
folk  had  a  green  judgment .'' — How  suld  it  help  me,  quotha.'' — 
it  will  be  a  creditable  apology  for  the  honor  of  the  family  for 
this  score  of  years  to  come,  if  it  is  weel  guided.  Where's  the 
family  pictures  ?  says  ae  meddling  body — the  great  fire  at 
Wolf's  Crag,  answers  I.  Where's  the  family  plate  ?  says  another 
— the  great  fire,  says  I ;  wha  was  to  think  of  plate,  when  life 
and  limb  were  in  danger  ? — Where's  the  wardrobe  and  the 
linens  ? — where's  the  tapestries  and  the  decorements  } — beds  of 
state,  twilts,  pands,  and  testers,  napcry  and  broidered  wark  t 
— The  fire — the  fire — the  fire.  Guide  the  fire  weel,  and  it  will 
serve  ye  for  a'  that  ye  suld  have  and  have  not — and,  in  some 
sort,  a  gude  excuse  is  better  than  the  things  themselves ;  for 
they  maun  crack  and  wear  out,  and  be  consumed  by  time, 
'vhereas  a  gude  offcome,  prudently  and  comfortably  handled, 
.nay  serve  a  nobleman  and  his  fam'ilv,  Lord  knows  how  lang!" 

Ravenswood  was  too  well  acquainted  with  his  butler  s  per- 


2i6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

tenacity  and  self-opinion,  to  dispute  the  point  with  him  any 
further.  Leaving  Caleb,  therefore,  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  own 
successful  ingenuity,  he  returned  to  the  hamlet,  where  he  found 
the  Marquis  and  the  good  women  of  the  mansion  under  some 
anxiety — the  former  on  account  of  his  absence,  the  others  for 
the  discredit  their  cookery  might  sustain  by  the  delay  of  the 
supper.  All  were  now  at  ease,  and  heard  with  pleasure  that 
the  fire  at  the  castle  had  burned  out  of  itself  without  reaching 
the  vaults,  which  was  the  only  information  that  Ravenswood 
thought  it  proper  to  give  in  public  concerning  the  events  of  his 
butler's  stratagem. 

They  sat  down  to  an  excellent  supper.  No  invitation  could 
prevail  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Girder,  even  in  their  own  house,  to  sit 
down  at  table  with  guests  of  such  high  quality.  They  remained 
standing  in  the  apartment,  and  acted  the  part  of  respectful  and 
careful  attendants  on  the  compan^^  Such  were  the  manners  of 
the  time.  The  elder  dame,  confident  through  her  age  and 
connection  with  the  Ravenswood  family,  was  less  scrupulously 
ceremonious.  She  played  a  mixed  part  betwixt  that  of  the 
hostess  of  an  inn,  and  the  mistress  of  a  private  house,  who 
receives  guests  above  her  own  degree. 

She  recommended,  and  even  pressed,  what  she  thought  best, 
and  was  herself  easily  entreated  to  take  a  moderate  share  of 
the  good  cheer,  in  order  to  encourage  her  guests  by  her  own 
example.  Often  she  interrupted  herself,  to  express  her  regret 
that  "  my  Lord  did  not  eat — that  the  Master  was  pyking  a 
bare  bane — that,  to  be  sure,  there  was  naething  there  fit  to  set 
before  their  honors — that  Lord  Allan,  rest  his  soul,  used  ta 
like  a  pouthered  guse,  and  said  it  was  Latin  for  a  tass  o'  brandy 
— that  the  brandy  came  from  France  direct  ;  for,  for  a'  the 
P^nglish  laws  and  gangers,  the  Wolf's  Hope  brigs  hadna  for- 
gotten the  gate  to  Dunkirk." 

Here  the  cooper  admonished  his  mother-in-law  with  his 
elbow,  which  procured  him  the  following  special  notice  in  the 
progress  of  her  speech  : 

"  Ye  needna  be  dunshin  that  gate,  John,"  continued  the  old 
lady ;  "  naebody  says  that  jtr  ken  whar  the  brandy  comes  frae ; 
and  it  wadna  be  fitting  ye  should,  and  you  the  Queen's  cooper  ; 
and  what  signifies't,"  continued  she,  addressing  Lord  Ravens- 
wood, "  to  king,  queen,  or  keiser,  whar  an  auld  wife  like  me 
buys  her  pickle  sneeshin,  or  her  drap  brandy-wine,  to  haud  her 
heart  up  ?  " 

Having  thus  extricated  herself  from  her  supposed  false  step, 
Dame  Loup-the-dyke  proceeded,  during  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
to  supply,  with  great  animation,  and  very  little  assistance  from 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


iif 


her  guests,  the  funds  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  conversa- 
tion, until,  declining  any  further  circulation  of  their  glass,  her 
guests  requested  her  permission  to  retire  to  their  apartments. 

The  Marquis  occupied  the  chamberof  dais,  which,  in  every 
house  above  the  rank  of  a  mefe  cottage,  was  kept  sacred  fo\ 
such  high  occasions  as  the  present.  The  modern  finishing 
with  plaster  was  then  unknown,  and  tapestry  was  confined  to 
the  liouses  of  the  nobility  and  superior  gentry.  The  cooper, 
therefore,  who  was  a  man  of  some  vanity,  as  well  as  some 
wealth,  had  imitated  the  fashion  observed  by  the  inferior  land- 
holders and  clergy,  who  usually  ornamented  their  state  apart- 
ments with  hangings  of  a  sort  of  stamped  leather,  manufactured 
in  the  Netherlands,  garnished  with  trees  and  animals  executed 
in  copper  foil,  and  with  many  a  pithy  sentence  of  morality, ; 
which,  although  couched  in  Low  Dutch,  were  perhaps  as  much 
attended  to  in  practice  as  if  written  in  broad  Scotch.  The 
whole  had  somewhat  of  a  gloomy  aspect ;  but  the  fire,  composed 
of  old  pitch-barrel  staves,  blazed  merrily  up  the  chimney ;  the 
bed  was  decorated  with  linen  of  most  fresh  and  dazzling 
whiteness,  which  had  never  before  been  used,  and  iriight,  per- 
haps, have  never  been  used  at  all,  but  for  this  high  occasion. 
On  the  toilette  beside  stood  an  old-fashioned  mirror,  in  a  fili- 
gree frame,  part  of  the  dispersed  finery  of  the  neighboring 
castle.  It  was  flanked  by  a  long-necked  bottle  of  Florence 
wine,  by  which  stood  a  glass  nearly  as  tall  resembling  in  shape 
that  which  Teniers  usually  places  in  the  hands  of  his  own 
portrait,  when  he  paints  himself  as  mingling  in  the  revels  of  a 
country  village.  To  counterbalance  those  foreign  sentinels, 
there  mounted  guard  on  the  other  side  of  the  mirror  two  stout 
warders  of  Scottish  lineage  ;  a  jug,  namely,  of  double  ale,  which 
held  a  Scotch  pint,  and  a  quegh,  or  bicker,  of  ivory  and  ebony, 
hooped  with  silver,  the  work  of  John  Girder's  own  hands  and 
the  pride  of  his  heart.  Besides  these  preparations  against 
thirst,  there  was  a  goodly  diet-loaf,  or  sweet-cake  ;  so  that,  with 
sUch  auxiliaries,  the  apartment  seemed  victualed  against  a  siege 
of  two  or  three  days. 

It  only  remains  to  say,  that  the  Marquis's  valet  was  in 
attendance,  displaying  his  master's  brocaded  night-gown,  and 
richly  embroidered  velvet  cap,  lined  and  faced  with  Brussels 
lace,  upon  a  huge  leathern  easy  chair,  wheeled  round  so  as  to 
have  the  full  advantage  of  the  comfortable  fire  which  we  have 
already  mentioned.  We,  therefore,  commit  the  eminent  person 
to  his  night's  repose,  trusting  he  profited  by  the  ample  pre- 
parations made  for  his  accommodation — preparations  which  we 


^i8  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

have  mentioned  in  detail,  as  illustrative  of  ancient  Scottish 
manners. 

It  is  not  necessary  we  should  be  equally  minute  in  describ- 
ing the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  which 
was  that  usually  occupied  by  the  goodman  and  goodwife  them- 
selves. It  was  comfortably  hung  with  a  sort  of  warm- colored 
worsted,  manufactured  in  Scotland,  approaching  in  texture  to 
what  is  now  called  shaloon.  A  staring  picture  of  John  Girder 
iiimself  ornamented  this  dormitory,  painted  by  a  starving 
Frenchman,  who  had,  God  knows  how  or  why,  strolled  over 
from  Flushing  or  Dunkirk  to  Wolf's  Hope  in  a  smuggling 
dogger.  The  features  were,  indeed,  those  of  the  stubborn, 
opinionative,  yet  sensible  artisan,  but  Monsieur  had  contrived 
to  throw  a  French  grace  into  the  look  and  manner,  so  utterly 
inconsistent  with  the  dogged  gravity  of  the  original,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  look  at  it  without  laughing.  John  and  his  family, 
however,  piqued  themselves  not  a  little  upon  this  picture,  and 
were  proportionably  censured  by  the  neighborhood,  who  pro- 
nounced that  the  cooper,  in  sitting  for  the  same,  and  yet  more 
in  presuming  to  hang  it  up  in  his  bedchamber,  had  exceeded 
his  privilege  as  the  richest  man  of  the  village  ;  at  once  stepped 
beyond  the  bounds  of  his  own  rank,  and  encroached  upon  those 
of  the  superior  orders  ;  and,  in  fine,  had  been  guilty  of  a  very 
overweening  act  of  vanity  and  presumption.  Respect  for  the 
memory  of  my  deceased  friend,  Mr.  Richard  Tinto,*  has  obliged 
me  to  treat  this  matter  at  some  length ;  but  I  spare  the  reader 
his  prolix,  though  curious  observations,  as  well  upon  the  char- 
acter of  the  French  School,  as  upon  the  state  of  painting  in 
Scotland,  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  other  preparations  of  tlie  Master's  sleeping  apartment 
were  similar  to  those  in  the  chamber  of  dais. 

At  the  usual  early  hour  of  that  period,  the  Marquis  of  A— — 
and  his  kinsman  prepared  to  resume  their  journey.  This  could 
not  be  done  without  an  ample  breakfast,  in  which  cold  meat 
and  hot  meat,  and  oatmeal  flummery,  wine  and  spirits  and 
milk  varied  by  every  possible  mode  of  preparation,  evinced  the 
same  desire  to  do  honor  to  their  guests  which  had  been  shown 
by  the  hospitable  owners  of  the  mansion  upon  the  evening  be- 
fore. All  the  bustle  of  preparation  for  departure  now  resound- 
ed through  Wolf's  Hope.  There  was  paying  of  bills  and  shak- 
ing of  hands,  and  saddling  of  horses,  and  harnessing  of  carriages, 
and  distributing  of  drink-money.  The  Marquis  left  a  broad 
piece  for  the  gratification  of  John  Girder's  household,  which  he, 
the  said  John,  was  for  some  time  disposed  to  convert  to  his  own 
*  [See  Preliminary  Chapter.] 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


aig 


use ;  Dingwall  the  writer  assuring  him  he  was  justified  in  so 
doing,  seeing  he  was  the  disburser  of  those  expenses  which  were 
the  occasion  of  the  gratification.  But,  notwithstanding  this 
legal  authority,  John  could  not  find  in  his  heart  to  dim  the 
splendor  of  his  late  hospitality,  by  pocketing  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  gratuity.  He  only  assured  his  menials  he  would 
consider  them  as  a  damned  ungrateful  pack,  if  they  bought  a  gill 
of  brandy  elsewhere  than  out  of  his  own  stores  ;  and  as  the  drink- 
money  was  likely  to  go  to  its  legitimate  use  he  comforted  him- 
self that,  in  this  manner,  the  Marquis's  donative  would,  with- 
out any  impeachment  of  credit  and  character,  come  ultimately 
into  his  own  exclusive  possession. 

While  arrangements  were  making  for  departure,  Ravens- 
wood  made  blithe  the  heart  of  his  ancient  butler,  by  informing 
him,  cautiously  however  (for  he  knew  Caleb's  warmth  of  imagina- 
tion), of  the  probable  change  which  was  about  to  take  place  in 
his  fortunes.  He  deposited  with  Balderston,  at  the  same  time, 
the  greater  part  of  his  slender  funds,  with  an  assurance,  which  he 
was  obliged  to  reiterate  more  than  once,  that  he  himself  had 
sufficient  supplies  in  certain  prospect.  He,  therefore,  enjoined 
Caleb,  as  he  valued  his  favor,  to  desist  from  all  further  man- 
oeuvres against  the  inhabitants  of  Wolf's  Hope,  their  cellars, 
poultry  yards,  and  substance  whatsoever.  In  this  prohibition 
the  old  domestic  acquiesced  more  readily  than  his  master  ex- 
pected. 

^'  It  was  doubtless,"  he  said,  "  a  shame,  a  discredit,  and  a 
sin,  to  harry  the  puir  creatures,  when  the  family  were  in  circum- 
stances to  live  honorably  on  their  ain  means ;  and  there  might 
be  wisdom,"  he  added,  "  in  giving  them  a  while's  breathing 
time  at  any  rate,  that  they  might  be  the  more  readily  brought 
forward  upon  his  honor's  future  occasions." 

This  matter  being  settled,  and  having  taking  an  afifectionate 
farewell  of  his  old  domestic,  the  Master  rejoined  his  noble  re- 
lative, who  was  now  ready  to  enter  his  carriage.  The  two 
landladies,  old  and  young,  having  received  in  all  kindly  greet- 
lng,_a^kiss  from  each  of  their  noble  guests,  stood  simpering  at 
the  door  of  their  house,  as  the  coach-and-six,  followed  by  its 
train  of  clattering  horsemen,  thundered  out  of  the  village.  Joha 
Girder  also  stood  upon  his  threshold,  now  looking  at  his  hon- 
ored right  hand,  which  had  been  so  lately  shaken  by  a  marquis 
and  a  lord,  and  now  giving  a  glance  into  the  interior  of  his  man- 
sion, which  manifested  all  the  disarray  of  the  late  revel,  as  if 
balancing  the  distinction  which  he  had  attained  with  the  ex- 
penses of  the  entertainment. 

At  length  he  opened  his  oracular  jaws.  **  i,et  every  man  and 


»20  THE  BRIDE   CF  LAMMERMOOR. 

woman  here  set  about  their  ain  bushiess,  as  if  there  was  nae  sic 
thing  as  marquis  or,  master,  duke  or  drake,  laird  or  lord,  in  this 
world.  Let  the  house  be  redd  up,  the  broken  meat  set  by,  and 
if  there  is  onything  totally  uneatable,  let  it  be  gien  to  the  puir 
folk  ;  and,  gudcmother  and  wife,  I  hae  just  ae  thing  to  entreat 
ye,  that  ye  will  never  speak  to  me  a  single  word,  good  or  bad, 
anent  a'  this  nonsense  wark,  but  keep  a'  your  cracks  about  it 
to  yoursells  and  your  kimmers,  for  my  head  is  weelnigh  dung 
donnart  wi  it  already." 

As  John's  authority  was  tolerably  absolute,  all  departed  to 
their  usual  occupations  leaving  him  to  build  castles  in  the  air, 
if  he  had  a  mind,  upon  the  court  favor  which  he  had  acquired  by 
the  expenditure  of  his  worldly  substance. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIXTH. 

Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forelock. 
And  if  she  escapes  my  grasp,  the  fault  is  mine; 
He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversity, 
Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favoring  breezes. 

Old  Play. 

Our  travelers  reached  Edinburgh  without  any  farther  adven- 
ture, and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  as  had  been  previously 
settled,  took  up  his  abode  with  his  noble  friend. 

In  the  meantime,  the  political  crisis  which  had  been  expected 
took  place,  and  the  Tory  party  obtained,  in  the  Scottish,  as  in 
the  English  councils  of  Queen  Anne,  a  short-lived  ascendency, 
of  which  it  is  not  our  business  to  trace  either  the  cause  or  con- 
sequences. Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  affected  the  different  politi- 
cal parties  according  to  the  nature  of  their  principles.  In 
England,  many  of  the  High  Church  party,  with  Harley,  after- 
ward Earl  of  Oxford,  at  their  head,  affected  to  separate  their 
principles  from  those  of  the  Jacobites,  and,  on  that  account, 
obtained  the  denomination  of  Vvhimsicals.  The  Scottish  High 
Church  party,  on  the  contrary,  or,  as  they  termed  themselves, 
the  Cavaliers,  were  more  consistent,  if  not  so  prudent,  in  their 
politics,  and  viewed  all  the  changes  now  made  as  preparatory 
to  calling  to  the  throne,  upon  the  Queen's  demise,  her  brother, 
the  Chevalier  de  St.  George.  Those  who  had  suffered  in  his 
service,  now  entertained  the  most  unreasonable  hopes,  not  only 
of  indemnification,  but  of  vengeance  upon  their  political  adver- 
saries ;  while  families  attached  to  the  Whig  interest,  saw  nothing 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  jat 

before  them  but  a  renewal  of  the  hardships  they  had  undergone 
during  the  reigns  of  Charles  the  Second  and  his  brother,  and  a 
retaliation  of  the  confiscation  which  had  been  inflicted  upon  the 
Jacobites  during  that  of  King  William. 

But  the  most  alarmed  at  the  change  of  system,  was  that 
prudential  set  of  persons  some  of  whom  are  found  in  all 
governments,  but  who  abound  in  a  provincial  administration 
like  that  of  Scotland  during  the  period,  and  who  are  what 
Cromwell  called  waiters  upon  Providence,  or,  in  other  words, 
uniform  adherents  to  the  party  who  are  uppermost.  Many  of 
these   hastened  to  read   their  recantation  to  the   Marquis  of 

A ;  and,  as  it  was  easily  seen  that  he  took  a  deep  interest 

in  the  affairs  of  his  kinsman,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  they 
were  the  first  to  suggest  measures  for  retrieving  at  least  a  part 
of  his  property,  and  for  restoring  him  in  blood  against  his 
father's  attainder. 

Old  Lord  Turntippet  professed  to  be  one  of  the  most  anx- 
ious for  the  success  of  these  measures;  for,  "  it  grieved  him  to 
the  very  saul,"  he  said,  "  to  see  so  brave  a  young  gentleman,  of 
sic  auld  and  undoubted  nobility,   and   what  was  mair  than  a' 

that,  a  bluid  relation  of  the  Marquis  of  A ,  the  man  whom," 

he  swore,  "  he  honored  most  upon  the  face  of  the  yearth, 
brought  to  so  severe  a  pass.  For  his  ain  puir  peculiar,"  as  he 
said,  "  and  to  contribute  something  to  the  rehabilitation  of  sic 
auld  ane  house,"  the  said  Turntippet  sent  in  three  family  pic- 
tures lacking  the  frames,  and  six  high-backed  chairs,  with 
worked  Turkey  cushions,  having  the  crest  of  Ravenswood 
broidered  thereon,  without  charging  a  penny  either  of  the  prin- 
cipal or  interest  they  had  cost  him,  when  he  bought  them,  six- 
teen years  before,  at  a  roup  of  the  furniture  of  Lord  Ravens- 
wood's  lodgings  in  the  Canongate. 

Much  more  to  Lord  Tiirntippet's  dismay  than  to  his  surprise, 
although  he  affected  to  feel  more  of  the  latter  than  the  former, 
the  Marquis  received  his  gift  very  drily,  and  observed,  that  his 
lordship's  restitution,  if  he  expected  it  to  be  received  by  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  and  his  friends,  must  comprehend  a 
pretty  large  farm,  which,  having  been  mortgaged  to  Turntippet 
for  a  very  inadequate  sum,  he  had  contrived,  during  the  con 
fusion  of  the  family  affairs,  and  by  means  well  understood  b^ 
the  lawyers  of  the  period,  to  acquire  to  himself  in  absolute 
property, 

The  old  time-serving  lord  winced  excessively  under  this 
requisition,  protesting  to  God,  that  he  saw  no  occasion  the  lad 
could  have  for  the  instant  possession  of  the  land,  seeing  ho 
would  doubtjess  now  recover  the  bulk  of  his  estate  from  Sii 


222 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


William  Ashton,  to  which  he  was  ready  to  contribute  by  even^ 
means  in  his  power,  as  was  just  and  reasonable  ;  and  finally 
declaring,  that  he  was  willing  to  settle  the  land  on  the  young 
gentleman,  after  his  own  natural  demise. 

But  all  these  excuses  availed  nothing,  and  he  was  compelled 
to  disgorge  the  property,  on  receiving  back  the  sum  for  which 
it  had  been  mortgaged.  Having  no  other  means  of  making 
peace  with  the  higher  powers,  he  returned  home  sorrowful  and 
malcontent,  complaining  to  his  confidants,  "  that  every  muta- 
tion or  change  in  the  state  had  hitherto  been  productive  of  some 
sma'  advantage  to  him  in  his  ain  quiet  afifairs ;  but  that  the 
present  had  (pize  upon  it !)  cost  him  one  of  the  best  pen-feathers 
o'  his  wing," 

Similar  measures  were  threatened  against  others  who  had 
profited  by  the  wreck  of  the  fortune  of  Ravenswood  ;  and  Sir 
William  Ashton,  in  particular,  was  menaced  with  an  appeal  to 
the  House  of  Peers  against  the  judicial  sentences  under  which 
he  held  the  Castle  and  Barony  of  Ravenswood.  With  him, 
however,  the  Master,  as  well  for  Lucy's  sake  as  on  account  of 
the  hospitality  he  had  received  from  him,  felt  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  proceeding  with  great  candor.  He  wrote  to  the 
late  Lord  Keeper,  for  he  no  longer  held  that  office,  stating 
frankly  the  engagement  which  existed  between  him  and  Miss 
Ashton,  requesting  his  jDcrmission  for  their  union,  and  assuring 
him  of  his  willingness  to  put  the  settlement  of  all  matters 
between  them  upon  such  a  footing,  as  Sir  William  himself  should 
think  favorable. 

The  same  messenger  was  charged  with  a  letter  to  Lady 
Ashton,  deprecating  any  cause  of  displeasure  which  the  Master 
might  unintentionally  have  given  her,  enlarging  upon  his  attach- 
ment to  Miss  Ashton,  and  the  length  to  which  it  had  proceeded, 
and  conjuring  the  lady,  as  a  Douglas  in  nature  as  well  as  in 
name,  generously  to  forget  ancient  prejudices  and  misunder- 
standings;  and  to  believe  that  the  family  had  acquired  a  friend, 
and  she  herself  a  respectful  and  attached  humble  servant,  in 
him  who  subscribed  himself  Edgar,  Master  of  Ravenswood. 

A  third  letter  Ravenswood  addressed  to  Lucy,  and  the 
messenger  was  instructed  to  find  some  secret  and  secure  means 
of  delivering  it  into  her  own  hands.  It  contained  the  strongest 
protestations  of  continued  affection,  and  dwelt  upon  the  ap- 
proaching change  of  the  writer's  fortunes,  as  chiefly  valuable 
by  tending  to  remove  the  impediments  to  their  union.  He 
related  the  steps  he  had  taken  to  overcome  the  prejudices  of 
her  parents,  and  especially  of  her  mother,  and  expressed 
his    hopes  they   might    prove    effectual.        If    not,    he   still 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


223 


trusted  that  his  absence  from  Scotland  upon  an  important 
and  honorable  mission  might  give  time  for  prejudices  to  die 
away ;  while  he  hoped  and  trusted  Miss  Ashton's  constancy,  on 
which  he  had  the  most  implicit  reliance,  would  baffle  any  effort 
that  might  be  used  to  divert  her  attachment.  Much  more  there 
was,  which  however  interesting  to  the  lovers  themselves,  would 
afford  the  reader  neither  interest  nor  information.  To  each  of 
these  three  letters  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  received  an 
answer,  but  by  different  means  of  conveyance,  and  certainly 
couched  in  very  different  styles. 

Lady  Ashton  answered  his  letter  by  his  own  messenger, 
who  was  not  allowed  to  remain  at  Ravenswood  a  moment  longer 
than  she  was  engaged  in  penning  these  lines.  "  For  the  hand 
of  Mr.  Ravenswood  of  Wolf's  Crag — These  : 

"  Sir,  unknown — I  have  received  a  letter,  signed  Edgar, 
Master  of  Ravenswood,  concerning  the  writer  whereof  I  am 
uncertain,  seeing  that  the  honors  of  such  a  family  were  for- 
feited for  high  treason  in  the  person  of  Allan,  late  Lord 
Ravenswood.  Sir,  if  you  shall  happen  to  be  the  person  so 
subscribing  yourself,  you  will  please  to  know,  that  I  claim  the 
full  interest  of  a  parent  in  Miss  Lucy  Ashton,  which  I  have 
disposed  of  irrevocably  in  behalf  of  a  worthy  person.  And,  sir, 
were  this  otherwise,  I  would  not  listen  to  a  proposal  from  you, 
or  any  of  your  house,  seeing  their  hand  has  been  uniformly 
held  up  against  the  freedom  of  the  subject,  and  the  immunities 
of  God's  kirk.  Sir,  it  is  not  a  flightering  blink  of  prosperity 
which  can  change  my  constant  opinion  in  this  regard,  seeing  it 
has  been  my  lot  before  now,  like  holy  David,  to  see  the  wicked 
great  in  power,  and  flourishing  like  a  green  bay-tree;  never- 
theless I  passed,  and  they  were  not,  and  the  place  thereof  knew 
them  no  more.  Wishing  you  to  lay  these  things  to  your  heart 
for  your  own  sake  so  far  as  they  may  concern  you,  I  pray  you 
to  take  no  further  notice  of  her,  who  desires  to  remain  your 
unknown  servant, 

Margaret  Douglas,  otherwise  Ashton." 

About  two  days  after  he  had  received  this  very  unsatisfac- 
tory epistle,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  while  walking  up  the 
High  Street  of  Edinburgh,  was  jostled  by  a  person,  in  whom, 
as  the  man  pulled  off  his  hat  to  make  an  apology,  he  recognized 
Lockhard,  the  confidential  domestic  of  Sir  William  Ashton. 
The  man  bowed,  slipped  a  letter  into  his  hand,  and  disappeared 
The  packet  contained  four  closely-wiitten  folios,  from  which, 
however,  as  is  sometimes  incident  to  the  compositions  of  great 


224 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


lawyers,  little  could  be  extracted  excepting  that  the  writer  felt 
himself  in  a  very  puzzling  predicament. 

Sir  William  spoke  at  length  of  his  high  value  and  regard 
for  his  dear  young  friend,  the  Master  of  Ravenswood,  and  of 
his  very  extreme  high  value  and  regard  for  the  Marquis  of 

A ,  his  very  dear  old  friend  : — he  trusted  that  any  measures 

that  they  might  adopt,  in  which  he  was  concerned,  would  be 
carried  on  with  due  regard  to  the  sanctity  of  decreets,  and 
judgments  obtained  in  foro  contentioso ;  protesting,  before  men 
and  angels,  that  if  the  law  of  Scotland,  as  declared  in  her 
supreme  courts,  were  to  undergo  a  reversal  in  the  English 
House  of  Lords,  the  evils  which  would  thence  arise  to  the  public 
would  inflict  a  greater  wound  upon  his  heart,  than  any  loss  he 
might  himself  sustain  by  such  irregular  proceedings.  He  flour- 
ished much  on  generosity  and  forgiveness  of  mutual  injuries, 
and  hinted  at  the  mutability  of  human  affairs,  always  favorite 
topics  with  the  weaker  party  in  politics.  He  pathetically  lam- 
ented and  gently  censured,  the  haste  which  had  been  used  in 
depriving  him  of  his  situation  of  Lord  Keeper,*  which  his  ex- 
perience had  enabled  him  to  fill  with  some  advantage  to  the 
jDublic,  without  so  much  as  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  explain- 
ing how  far  his  own  views  of  general  politics  might  essentially 
differ  from  those  now  in  power.  He  was  convinced  the  Marquis 
of  A. had  as  sincere  intentions  toward  the  public,  as  him- 
self or  any  man ;  and  if,  upon  a  conference,  they  could  have 
agreed  upon  the  measures  by  which  it  was  to  be  pursued,  his  ex- 
perience and  his  interest  should  have  gone  to  support  the  pres- 
ent administration.  Upon  the  engagement  betwixt  Ravens- 
wood  and  his  daughter,  he  spoke  in  a  dry  and  confused  manner. 
He  regretted  so  premature  a  step  as  the  engagement  of  the 
young  people  should  have  been  taken,  and  conjured  the  Master 
to  remember  he  had  never  given  any  encouragement  thereunto  ; 
and  observed,  that,  as  a  transaction  inter  viinorcs,  and  without 
concurrence  of  his  daughter's  natural  curators,  the  engagement 
was  inept  and  void  in  law.  This  precipitate  measure,  he  add- 
ed, had  produced  a  very  bad  effect  upon  Lady  Ashton's  mind, 
which  it  was  impossible  at  present  to  remove.  Her  son.  Colonel 
Douglas  Ashton,  had  embraced  her  prejudices  in  the  fullest 
extent,  and  it  was  impossible  for  Sir  William  to  adopt  a  course 
disagreeable  to  them,  without  a  fatal  and  irreconcilable  breach 
in  his  family,  which  was  not  at  present  to  be  thought  of.  Time, 
the  great  physician,  he  hoped,  would  mend  all. 

in  a  postscript.  Sir  William  said  something  more  explicitly, 
which  seemed  to  intimate,  that  rather  than  the  law  of  Scotland 

•[  This  obviously  cannot  aonlv  to  Sir  James  Dalrymple,  Lord  StaU 
who  was  then  dead,  and  had  nevet  been  deprived  of  any  such  oflSce.] 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


225 


should  sustain  a  severe  wound  through  his  sides,  by  a  reversal 
of  the  judgment  of  her  supreme  courts,  in  the  case  of  tha 
Barony  of  Ravenswood,  through  the  intervention  of  what,  with 
all  submission,  he  must  term  a  foreign  court  of  appeal,  he  him- 
self would  extrajudicially  consent  to  considerable  sacrifices. 

From  Lucy  Ashton,  by  some  unknown  conveyance,  the  Mas- 
ter received  the  following  lines  : — "  I  received  yours,  but  it  was 
at  the  utmost  risk ;  do  not  attempt  to  write  again  till  better 
times.     I  am  sore  beset,  but  I  will  be  true  to  my  word,   while  ■■; 

the  exercise  of  my  reason  is  vouchsafed  to  me.     That  you  are  "■^''■*'t*^" 
happy  and  prosperous  is  some  consolation,  and  my  situation 
requires  it  all."    The  note  was  signed  L.  A. 

This  letter  filled  Ravenswood  with  the  most  lively  alarm. 
He  made  many  attempts,  notwithstanding  her  prohibition  to 
convey  letters  to  Miss  Ashton,  and  even  to  obtain  an  interview; 
but  his  plans  were  frustrated,  and  he  had  only  the  mortification 
to  learn,  that  anxious  and  effectual  precautions  had  been  taken 
to  prevent  the  possibility  of  their  correspondence.  The  Master 
was  the  more  distressed  by  these  circumstances,  as  it  became 
impossible  to  delay  his  departure  from  Scotland,  upon  the  im- 
portant mission  which  had  been  confined  to  him.  Before  his 
departure,  he  put  Sir  William  Ashton's  letter  into  the  hands  of 

the   Marquis  of  A ,  who  observed  with  a  smile,  that  Sif 

William's  days  of  grace  was  past,  and  that  he  had  now  to  learn 
which  side  of  the  hedge  the  sun  had  got  to.  It  was  with 
the  greatest  difiiculty  that  Ravenswood  extorted  from  the  Mar- 
quis a  promise  that  he  would  compromise  the  proceedings  in 
Parliament,  providing  Sir  William  should  be  disposed  to  ac- 
quiesce in  a  union  between  liim  and  Lucy  Ashton. 

"  I  would  hardly,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  consent  to  your 
throwing  away  your  birthriglit  in  this  manner,  were  I  not 
perfectly  confident  that  Lady  Ashton,  or  Lady  Douglas,  or 
whatever  she  calls  herself,  will,  as  Scotchmen  say,  keep  her 
threep ;  and  that  her  husband  dares  not  contradict  her." 

"  But  yet,"  said  the  Master,  "  I  trust  your  lordship  will 
consider  my  engagement  as  sacred  ?  " 

"  Believe  my  word  of  honor,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  I  would 
be  a  friend  even  to  your  follies;  and  having  thus  told  you  my 
opinion,  I  will  endeavor,  as  occasion  offers,  to  serve  you  accord- 
ing to  your  own." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  could  but  thank  his  generous 
kinsman  and  patron,  and  leave  him  full  power  to  act  in  all  ins 
affairs.  He  departed  from  Scotland  upon  his  mission,  which, 
it  was  supposed,  might  detain  him  upon  the  Continent  for  sorao 
months. 


22'6  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

Was  over  woman  in  this  humor  wooed  ? 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  won  ? 
I'll  have  her. 

Richard  the  Third. 

Twelve  months  had  passed  away  since  the  Master  ol 
Ravenswood's  departure  for  the  Continent,  and  although  his 
return  to  Scotland  had  been  expected  in  a  much  shorter  space, 
yet  the  affairs  of  his  mission,  or,  according  to  a  prevailing 
report,  others  of  a  nature  personal  to  himself,  still  detained 
him  abroad.  In  the  meantime,  the  altered  state  of  affairs  in 
Sir  William  Ashton's  family  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
conversation  which  took  place  betwixt  Bucklaw  and  his  confi- 
dential bottle-coinpanion  and  dependant,  the  noted  Captain 
Craigengelt. 

They  were  seated  on  either  side  of  the  huge  sepulchral-look- 
ing freestone  chimney  in  the  low  hall  at  Girnington.  A  wood 
fire  blazed  merrily  in  the  grate  ;  a  round  oaken  table  placed 
between  them,  supported  a  stoup  of  excellent  claret,  two  rum- 
mer glasses,  and  other  good  cheer  ;  and  yet,  with  all  these 
appliances  and  means  to  boot,  the  countenance  of  the  patron 
was  dubious,  doubtful,  and  unsatisfied,  while  the  invention  of 
his  dependant  was  taxed  to  the  utmost,  to  parry  what  he  most 
dreaded,  a  fit,  as  he  called  it,  of  the  sullens,  on  the  part  of  his 
protector.  After  a  long  pause,  only  interrupted  by  the  devil's 
tattoo,  which  Bucklaw  kept  beating  against  the  hearth  with  the 
toe  of  his  boot,  Craigengelt  at  last  ventured  to  break  silence. 
"  May  I  be  double-distanced,"  said  he,  "  if  ever  I  saw  a  man  in 
my  life  have  less  the  air  of  a  bridegroom  ?  Cut  me  out  of 
feather,  if  you  have  not  more  the  look  of  a  man  condemned  to 
be  hanged  !  " 

"  My  kind  thanks  for  the  compliinent,"  replied  Bucklaw  ; 
"but  1  suppose  you  think  upon  the  predicament  in  which  you 
yourself  are  most  likely  to  be  placed  ; — and  pray,  Captain 
Craigengelt,  if  it  please  your  worship,  why  should  I  look  merry, 
when  I  am  sad,  and  devilish  sad  too  .-'  " 

"  And  that's  what  vexes  me,"  said  Craigengelt.  "  Here  is 
this  match,  the  best  in  the  whole  country,  and  which  you  were 
so  anxious  about,  is  on  the  point  of  being  concluded,  and  you 
are  as  sulky  as  a  bear  that  has  lost  his  whelps." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  Laird  doggedly,  "  whethei 


THE  BRTDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  227 

I  should  conclude  it  or  not,  if  it  was  not  that  I. am  too  far  for- 
ward to  leap  back." 

"  Leap  back  !  "  exclaimed  Craigengelt,  with  a  well-assumed 
air  of  astonishment,  "  that  would  be  playing  the  back-game 
with  a  witness  !     Leap  back  !  why  is  not  the  girl's  fortune" • 

"  The  young  lady's,  if  you  please,"  said  Hayston,  interrupting 
him. 

"  Well,  well,  no  disrespect  meant  —  Will  Miss  Ashton's 
tocher*  not  weigh  against  any  in  Lothian  ?  " 

"Granted,"  answered  Bucklaw  ;  "but  I  care  not  a  penny 
for  her  tocher — I  have  enough  of  my  own." 

"  And  the  mother  that  loves  you  like  her  own  child  ?  " 

"  Better  than  some  of  her  children,  I  believe,"  said  Bucklaw, 
"or  there  would  be  little  love  wared  on  the  matter." 

"And  Colonel  Sholto  Douglas  Ashton,  who  desires  the 
marriage  above  all  earthly  things  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  he  expects  to  carry  the  county 
of through  my  interest." 

"  And  the  father,  who  is  as  keen  to  see  the  match  concluded, 
as  ever  I  have  been  to  win  a  main  .-' " 

"  Ay,"  said  Bucklaw,  in  the  same  disparaging  manner,  "  it 
lies  with  Sir  William's  policy  to  secure  the  next  best  match, 
since  he  cannot  barter  his  child  to  save  the  great  Ravenswood 
estate,  which  the  English  House  of  Lords  are  about  to  wrench 
out  of  his  clutches." 

"What  say  you  to  the  3'oung  lady  herself?"  said  Craigen- 
gelt ;  "  the  finest  young  woman  in  all  Scotland,  one  that  you 
used  to  be  so  fond  of  when  she  was  cross,  and  now  she  con- 
sents to  have  you,  and  gives  up  her  engagement  with  Ravens- 
wood,  you  are  for  jibbing — I  must  say,  the  devil's  in  ye,  when 
ye  neither  know  what  you  would  have,  nor  what  you  would 
want." 

"  I'll  tell  you  my  meaning  in  a  word,"  answered  Bucklaw, 
getting  up  and  walking  through  the  room  ;  "  I  want  to  know 
what  the  devil  is  the  cause  of  Miss  Ashton's  changing  her  mind 
so  suddenly  ?  " 

"And  what  need  you  care,"  said  Craigengelt,  "since  the 
change  is  in  your  favor .-'  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  returned  his  patron,  "  I  never 
knew  much  of  that  sort  of  fine  ladies,  and  I  believe  they  may 
be  as  capricious  as  the  devil  ;  but  there  is  something  in  Miss 
Ashton's  change,  a  devilish  deal  too  sudden  and  too  serious  for 
a  mere  flisk  of  her  own.  I'll  be  bound  Lady  Ashton  under- 
stands every  machine  for  breaking  in  the  human  mind,  and 
*  \Anglicl,  dowry.] 


228  THE  BRIDE  OP  LAMMERMOOK. 

there  are  as  many  as  there  are  cannon-bits,  martingales,  and 
cavessons  for  young  colts." 

"  And  if  that  were  not  the  case,"  said  Craigcngelt,  "  how  the 
devil  should  we  ever  get  them  into  training  at  all  ? " 

"  And  that's  true,  too,"  said  Bucklaw,  suspending  his  march 
through  the  dining-room,  and  leaning  upon  the  back  of  a  chair 
• — "  And  besides,  here's  Ravenswood  in  the  way  still  ;  do  you 
think  he'll  give  up  Lucy's  engagement  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  he  will,"  answered  Craigengelt  ;  "what  good 
can  it  do  him  to  refuse,  since  he  wishes  to  marry  another 
woman,  and  she  another  man  ?  " 

"  And  you  believe  seriously,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  that  he  is  going 
to  marry  the  foreign  lady  we  heard  of  ?  " 

"  You  heard  yourself,"  answered  Craigengelt,  "what  Captain 
Westenho  said  about  it,  and  the  great  preparations  made  for 
their  blithesome  bridal." 

"  Captain  Westenho,"  replied  Bucklaw,  "  has  rather  too 
much  of  your  own  cast  about  him,  Craigie,  to  make  what  Sir 
William  would  call  a  '  famous  witness.'  He  drinks  deep,  pla3'S 
deep,  swears  deep,  and  I  suspect  can  lie  and  cheat  a  little  into 
the  bargain ; — useful  qualities,  Craigie,  if  kept  in  their  proper 
sphere,  but  which  have  a  little  too  much  of  the  freebooter  to 
make  a  figure  in  a  court  of  evidence." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Craigengelt,  "  will  you   believe  Colonel 

Douglas  Ashton,  who  heard  the  Marquis  of   A say  in  a 

public  circle,  but  not  aware  that  he  was  within  ear-shot,  that 
his  kinsman  had  made  a  better  arrangement  for  himself  than  to 
give  his  father's  land  for  the  pale-cheeked  daughter  of  a  broken- 
down  fanatic,  and  that  Bucklaw  was  welcome  to  the  wearing  of 
Havenswood's  shaughled  shoes  ?  " 

"  Did  he  say  so,  by  heavens  !  "  cried  Bucklaw,  breaking  out 
into  one  of  those  uncontrolable  fits  of  passion  to  which  he  was 
constitutionally  subject — "  if  I  had  heard  him,  I  would  have 
torn  the  tongue  out  of  his  throat  before  all  his  pets  and  minions, 
and  Highland  bullies  into  the  bargain.  Why  did  not  Ashton 
run  him  through  the  body  ?  " 

"  Capote  me  if  I  know,"  said  the  Captain.  "  He  deserved 
it  sure  enough  ;  but  he  is  an  old  man,  and  a  minister  of  state, 
and  there  would  be  more  risk  than  credit  in  meddling  with  him. 
You  had  more  need  to  think  of  making  up  to  Miss  Lucy  Ashton 
the  disgrace  that's  like  to  fall  upon  her,  than  of  interfering  with 
a  man  too  old  to  fight,  and  on  too  high  a  stool  for  your  hand  to 
reach  him." 

"  It  shall  reach  him,  though,  one  day,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  and 
his  kinsman  Ravenswood  to  boot.     In  the  meantime,  I'll  take 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


229 


■^are  Miss  Ashton  receives  no  discredit  for  the  slight  they  have 
put  upon  her.  It's  an  awkward  job,  however,  and  I  wish  it 
were  ended  ;  I  scarce  know  how  to  talk  to  her, — but  fill  a 
bumper,  Craigie,  and  we'll  drink  her  health.  It  grows  late,  and 
a  night-cowl  of  good  claret  is  worth  all  the  considering-caps  in 
Europe." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHTH. 

It  was  the  copy  of  our  conference. 
In  l)ed  she  slept  not,  for  my  urging  it ; 
At  board  she  fed  not,  for  my  urging  it ; 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 
In  company  I  often  glanced  at  it. 

Comedy  of  Errirs. 

1  iiii:  next  morning  saw  Bucklaw,  and  his  faithful  Achates 
Craigengelt,  at  Ravenswood  Castle.  They  were  most  cour- 
teously received  by  the  knight  and  his  lady,  as  well  as  by  their 
son  and  heir,  Colonel  Ashton.  After  a  good  deal  of  stammering 
and  blushing, — for  Bucklaw,  notwithstanding  his  audacity  in 
other  matters,  had  all  the  sheepish  bashfulness  common  to  those 
who  have  lived  little  in  respectable  society, — he  contrived  at 
length  to  explain  his  wish  to  be  admitted  to  a  conference  with 
Miss  Ashton,  upon  the  subject  of  their  approaching  union.  Sir 
William  and  his  son  looked  at  Lady  Ashton,  Mho  replied  with- 
the  greatest  composure,  "  that  Lucy  would  wait  upon  Mr.  Hay- 
ston  directly.  I  hope,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  that,  as  Lucy  is 
very  young,  and  has  been  lately  trepanned  into  an  engagement, 
of  which  she  is  now  heartily  ashamed,  our  dear  Bucklaw  will 
excuse  her  wish,  that  I  should  be  present  at  their  interview  ?  " 

"  In  truth,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Bucklaw,  "  it  is  the  very 
thing  that  I  would  have  desired  on  my  own  account ;  for  I  have 
been  so  little  accustomed  to  what  is  called  gallantry,  that  I  shall 
certainly  fall  into  some  cursed  mistake,  unless  I  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  your  ladyship  as  an  interpreter." 

It  was  thus  that  Bucklaw,  in  the  perturbation  of  his  embar- 
rassment upon  this  critical  occasion,  forgot  the  just  apprehen- 
sions he  had  entertained  of  Lady  Asliton's  overbearing  ascend- 
ency over  her  daughter's  mind,  and  lost  an  opportunity  of  as- 
certaining, by  his  own  investigation,  the  real  state  of  Lucy's  feet 
ings. 

The  other  gentlemen  left  the  room,  and  in  a  short  time. 
Lady  Ashton,  followed  by  her  daughter,  entered  the  apartment^ 


230 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


She  appeared,  as  he  had  seen  her  on  former  occasions,  rather 
composed  than  agitated  ;  but  a  nicer  judge  than  he  could  scarce 
have  determined,  whether  lier  cahnness  was  that  of  despair  or  of 
hidifference.  Bucklaw  was  too  much  agitated  by  his  own  feel- 
ings minutely  to  scrutinize  those  of  the  lady.  He  stammered  out 
an  unconnected  address,  confounding  together  the  two  or  three 
topics  to  which  it  related,  and  stopped  short  before  he  brought 
it  to  any  regular  conclusion.  Miss  Ashton  listened,  or  looked 
AS  if  she  listened,  but  returned  not  a  single  word  in  answer,  con^ 
tinning  to  fix  her  eyes  on  a  small  piece  of  embroidery,  on  which, 
as  if  by  mstinct  or  habit,  her  fingers  were  busily  employed.  Lady 
Ashton  sat  at  some  distance,  almost  screened  from  notice  bv 
the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window  in  which  she  had  placed  her 
chair.  From  this  she  whispered,  in  a  tone  of  voice,  which, 
though  soft  and  sweet,  had  something  in  it  of  admonition,  if 
not  command, — "  Lucy,  my  dear,  remember — have  you  heard 
what  Bucklaw  has  been  saying  ?" 

The  idea  ©f  her  mother's  presence  seemed  to  have  slipped 
from  the  unhappy  girl's  recollection.  She  started,  dropped  her 
needle,  and  repeated  hastily,  and  almost  in  the  same  breath, 
the  contradictory  answers,  "  Yes,  madam — no,  lady — I  beg  par- 
don, I  did  not  hear." 

"  You  need  not  blush,  my  love,  and  still  less  need  you  look 
so  pale  and  frightened,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  coming  forward  ; 
"  we  know  that  maiden's  ears  must  be  slow  in  receiving  a  gentle- 
man's language  ;  but  you  must  remember  Mr.  Hayston  speaks 
on  a  subject  on  which  you  have  long  since  agreed  to  give  him  a 
favorable  hearing.  You  know  how  much  your  father  and  I 
have  our  hearts  set  upon  an  event  so  extremely  desirable." 

In  Lady  Ashton's  voice,  a  tone  of  impressive  and  even  stern 
innuendo  was  sedulously  and  skilfully  concealed,  under  an  ap- 
pearance of  the  most  affectionate  maternal  tenderness.  The 
manner  was  for  Bucklaw,  who  was  easily  enough  imposed  upon; 
the  matter  of  the  exhortation  was  for  the  terrified  Lucy,  who 
well  knew  how  to  interpret  her  mother's  hints,  however  skilfully 
their  real  purport  might  be  veiled  from  general  observation. 

Miss  Ashton  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  cast  round  her  a  glancr, 
in  which  fear  was  mingled  with  a  still  wilder  expression,  but 
remained  perfectly  silent.  Bucklaw,  who  had  in  the  meantime 
paced  the  room  to  and  fro,  until  he  had  recovered  his  com- 
posure, now  stopped  within  two  or  three  yards  of  her  chair,  and 
broke  out  as  follows  : — "  I  believe  I  have  been  a  d — d  fool. 
Miss  Ashton  ;  I  have  tried  to  speak  to  you  as  people  tell  me, 
young  ladies  like  to  be  talked  to,  and  I  don't  think  you  com- 
prehend what  I  have  been  saying  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  d — rx 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


231 


me  if  I  understand  it  mj-self  !  But,  however,  once  for  all,  and 
in  broad  Scotch,  your  father  and  mother  like  what  is  proposed, 
and  if  you  can  take  a  plain  young  fellow  for  your  husband,  who 
will  never  cross  you  in  anything  you  have  a  mind  to,  I  will 
place  you  at  the  head  of  the  best  establishment  in  the  three 
Lothians;  you  shall  have  Lady  Girnington's  lodging  in  the  Can- 
ongate  of  Edinburgh,  go  where  you  please,  do  what  you  please, 
and  see  what  you  please,  and  that's  fair.  Only  I  must  have  a 
corner  at  the  board-end  for  a  worthless  old  play-fellow  of  mine, 
whose  company  I  would  rather  want  than  have,  if  it  were  not 
that  the  d — d  fellow  has  persuaded  me  that  I  can't  do  without 
him  ;  and  so  I  hope  you  won't  except  against  Craigie,  although 
it  might  be  easy  to  find  much  better  company." 

"  Now,  out  upon  you,  Bucklaw,  said  Lady  Ashton,  again 
inierposing, — "  how  can  you  think  Lucy  can  have  any  objection 
to  that  blunt,  honest,  good-natured  creature,  Captain  Craigen- 

"  Why,  madam,"  replied  Bucklaw,  "  as  to  Craigie's  sincerity 
honesty,  and  good  nature,  they  are,  I  believe,  pretty  much  upon 
a  par — But  that's  neither  here  nor  there — the  fellow  knows  my 
ways,  and  has  got  useful  to  me,  and  I  cannot  well  do  without 
him,  as  I  said  before.  But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  purpose  ; 
for  since  I  have  mustered  up  courage  to  make  a  plain  proposal, 
I  would  fain  hear  Miss  Ashton,  from  her  own  lips,  give  me  a 
plain  answer." 

"  My  dear  Bucklaw,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  "  let  me  spare  Lucy's 
bashfulness.  I  tell  you  in  her  presence,  that  she  has  already 
consented  to  be  guided  by  her  father  and  me  in  this  matter — 
Lucy,  my  love,"  she  added,  with  that  singular  combination  of 
suavity  of  tone  and  pointed  energy  which  we  have  already 
noticed — "  Lucy,  my  dearest  love  !  speak  for  yourself,  is  it  not 
as  I  say  ?  " 

Her  victim  answered  in  a  tremulous  and  hollow  voice — "  I 
have  promised  to  obey  you, — but  upon  one  condition." 

"  She  means,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  turning  to  Bucklaw,  "  she 
expects  an  answer  to  the  demand  which  was  made  upon  the  man 
at  Vienna,  or  Ratisbon,  or  Paris — or  where  is  he — for  restitution 
of  the  engagement  in  which  he  had  the  art  to  involve  her.  You 
will  not,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  friend,  think  it  is  wrong  that  she 
should  feel  much  delicacy  upon  this  head  ;  indeed,  it  concerns 
us  all." 

"  Perfectly  right — quite  fair,"  said  Bucklaw,  half  humming;; 
half  speaking  the  end  of  the  old  song — 

"  It  is  best  to  be  off  wi'  the  old  love 
Before  you  be  on  wi'  the  new. 


232  THE   BRIDE    OF   LAMM EK MOOR. 

But  I  thought,"  said  he,  pausing,  "you  might  have  had  an 
answer  six  times  told  from  Ravenswood.  D — n  me,  if  I  have 
not  a  mind  to  go  and  fetch  one  myself,  if  Miss  Ashton  will 
honor  me  with  the  commission." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  "  we  have  the  utmost 
difficulty  of  preventing  Douglas  (for  whom  it  would  be  more 
proper)  from  taking  so  rash  a  step ;  and  do  you  think  we  could 
permit  you,  my  good  friend,  almost  equally  dear  to  us,  to  go  to 
a  desperate  man  upon  an  errand  so  desperate?  In  fact,  all  the 
friends  of  the  family  are  of  opinion,  and  my  dear  Lucy  herself 
ought  so  to  think,  that,  as  this  unworthy  person  has  returned  no 
answer  to  her  letter,  silence  must  on  this,  as  in  other  cases,  be 
held  to  give  consent,  and  a  contract  must  be  supposed  to  be 
given  up,  when  the  party  waives  insisting  upon  it.  Sir  William, 
who  should  know  best,  is  clear  upon  this  subject ;  and  therefore, 
my  dear  Lucy  " 

"Madam,"  said  Lucy,  with  unwonted  energy,  "urge  me  no 
further — if  this  unhappy  engagement  be  restored,  I  have  already 
said  you  shall  dispose  of  me  as  you  will — till  then  I  should  com- 
mit a  heavy  sin  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man,  in  doing  what  you 
require." 

"  But,  my  love,  if  this  man  remains  obstinately  silent " 

"  He  will  not  be  silent,"  answered  Lucy ;  "  it  is  six  weeks 
since  I  sent  him  a  double  of  my  former  letter  by  a  sure  hand." 

"  You  have  not — ^you  could  not — you  durst  not,"  said  Lady 
Ashton,  with  violence  inconsistent  with  the  tone  she  had  in- 
tended to  assume ;  but  instantly  correcting  herself,  "  My  dear- 
est Lucy,"  said  she  in  her  sweetest  tone  of  expostulation,  "  how 
could  you  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  No  matter,"  said  Bucklaw  \  "  I  respect  Miss  Ashton  for 
her  sentiments,  and  I  only  wish  I  had  been  her  messenger  my- 
self." 

"  And  pray  how  long.  Miss  Ashton,"  said  her  mother  ironi- 
cally, "  are  we  to  wait  the  return  of  your  Pacolet — your  fairy 
messenger — since  our  humble  couriers  of  flesh  and  blood  could 
not  be  trusted  in  this  matter  ? " 

"  I  have  numbered  weeks,  days,  hours,  and  minutes,"  said 
Miss  Ashton;  "within  another  week  I  shall  have  an  answer, 
unless  he  13  dead. — Till  that  time,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing 
Bucklaw,  "  let  me  be  thus  far  beholden  to  you,  that  you  will 
beg  my  mother  to  forbear  me  upon  this  subject." 

"  I  will  make  it  my  particular  entreaty  to  Lady  Ashton," 
said  Bucklaw.  "  By  my  honor,  madam,  I  respect  your  feelings; 
and.  although  the  prosecution  of  this  affair  be  rendered   dearer 


TFTE  BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


233 


to  me  than  ever,  yet,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  would  renounce 
it  were  it  so  urged  as  to  give  you  a  moment's  pain." 

"  Mr.  Hayston,  I  tliink,  cannot  apprehend  that,"  said  Lady 
Ashton,  looking  pale  with  anger,  "  when  the  daughter's  happi- 
ness, lies  in  the  bosom  of  the  mother. — Let  me  ask  you  Miss 
Ashton  in  what  terms  your  last  letter  was  couched  ?  " 

"  Exactly  in  the  same,  madam,"  answered  Lucy,  "  which 
you  dictated  on  a  former  occasion." 

"  When  eight  days  have  elapsed,  then,"  said  her  mother, 
resuming  her  tone  of  tenderness,  "  we  shall  hope,  my  dearest 
love,  that  you  will  end  this  suspense." 

"  Miss  Ashton  must  not  be  hurried,  madam,"  said  Bucklaw, 
whose  biuntness  of  feeling  did  not  by  any  means  arise  from 
want  of  goodnature — "  messengers  maybe  stopped  or  delayed. 
I  have  known  a  day's  journey  broke  by  the  casting  of  a  fore- 
shoe.  Stay,  let  me  see  my  calendar — the  20th  day  from  this  is 
St.  Jude's,  and  the  day  before  I  must  be  at  Caverton  Edge  to 
see  the  match  between  the  Laird  of  Kittlegirth's  black  mare 
and  Johnston  the  meal-monger's  four-year-old  colt ;  but  I  can 
ride  all  night,  or  Craigie  can  bring  me  word  how  the  match 
goes ;  and  I  hope,  in  the  meantime,  as  I  shall  not  myself  dis- 
tress Miss  Ashton  with  any  further  importunity,  that  your 
ladyship  yourself,  and  Sir  William,  and  Colonel  Douglas,  will 
have  the  goodness  to  allow  her  uninterrupted  time  for  making 
up  her  mind." 

"  Sir,"  said  Miss  Ashton,  "  you  are  generous." 

"  As  for  that,  madam,  answered  Bucklaw,  "  I  only  pretend 
to  be  a  plain,  good-humored  young  fellow,  as  I  said  before, 
who  will  willingly  inake  you  happy  if  you  will  permit  him,  and 
show  him  how  to  do  so." 

Having  said  this,  he  saluted  her  with  more  emotion  than 
was  consistent  with  his  usual  train  of  feeling,  and  took  his 
leave ;  Lady  Ashton,  as  she  accompanied  him  out  of  the  apart- 
ment, assuring  l:"mthat  her  daughter  did  full  justice  to  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  attachment,  and  requesting  him  to  see  Sir  William 
before  his  departure,  "since,"  as  she  said,  with  a  keen  glance 
reverting  toward  Lucy,  "  against  St.  Jude's  day  we  must  all  be 
ready  to  sign  and  seal ^ 

"To  sign  and  seal  !  "  echoed  Lucy  in  a  muttering  tone  as 
the  door  of  the  apartment  closed — "  To  sign  and  seal — to  do 
and  die  I  '^  and,  clasping  her  extenuated  hands  together,  she 
sunk  back  on  the  easy-chair  she  occupied,  in  a  state  resembling 
stupor. 

From  this  she  was  shortly  after  awakened  by  the  boisterous 
entry  of  her  brother  Henry,  who  clamorously  reminded  her  0^ 


234 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


a  promise  to  give  him  two  yards  of  carnation  ribbon  to  make 
knots  to  his  new  garters.  With  tlie  most  patient  composure 
Lucy  arose,  and  opened  a  little  ivory  cabinet,  sought  out  the 
ribbon  the  lad  wanted,  measured  it  accurately,  cut  it  off  into 
proper  lengths,  and  knoted  into  the  fashion  his  boyish  whim 
required. 

"  Dinna  shut  the  cabinet  yet,"  said  Henry,  "for  I  must  have 
some  of  your  silver  wire  to  fasten  the  bells  to  my  hawk's  jessesj 
— and  yet  the  new  falcon's  not  worth  them  neither ;  for  do  you 
know,  after  all  the  plague  we  had  to  get  her  from  an  eyry,  all 
the  way  at  Posso,  in  Manor  Water,  she's  going  to  prove,  aftei 
all,  nothing  better  than  a  trifier — she  just  wets  her  singles  in 
the  blood  of  a  partridge,  and  then  breaks  away,  and  lets  her 
fly  ;  and  what  good  can  the  poor  bird  do  after  that,  you  know, 
except  pine  and  die  in  the  first  heather-cow  or  whin-bush  she 
can  crawl  into  .''  " 

"  Right,  Henry — right,  very  right,"  said  Lucy,  mournfully, 
holding  the  boy  fast  by  the  hand,  after  she  had  given  him  the 
wire  he  wanted  ;  "but  there  are  more  trifiers  in  the  world  than 
your  falcon,  and  more  wounded  birds  that  seek  but  to  die  in 
quiet,  that  can  find  neither  brake  nor  whin-bush  to  hide  their 
heads  in." 

"  Ah  !  that's  some  speech  out  of  your  romances,"  said  the 
boy ;  "  and  Sholto  says  they  have  turned  your  head.  But  I 
hear  Norman  whistling  to  the  hawk ;  I  must  go  fasten  on  the 
jesses." 

And  he  scampered  away  with  the  thoughtless  gayety  of  boy- 
hood, leaving  his  sister  to  the  bitterness  of  her  own  reflections. 

"  It  is  decreed,"  she  said,  "  that  every  living  creature,  even 
those  who  owe  me  most  kindness,  are  to  shun  me,  and  leave 
me  to  those  by  whom  I  am  beset.  It  is  just  it  should  be  thus. 
Alone  and  uncounseled,  I  involved  myself  in  these  perils— 
a^one  and  uncounseJed  I  must  extricate  myself  or  die." 


THE  BRIDE   OP  LAMMERMOOR.  235 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINTH. 


What  doth  ensue 


But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 
Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair, 
And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures,  and  foes  to  life  ? 

CoMKDY  OF  Errors. 

As  some  vindication  of  the  ease  with  which  Bucklaw  (who 
otherwise,  as  he  termed  himself,  was  really  a  very  good-humored 
fellow)  resigned  his  judgment  to  the  management  of  Lady 
Ashton,  while  paying  his  addresses  to  her  daughter,  the  reader 
must  call  to  mind  the  strict  domestic  discipline,  which,  at  this 
period,  was  exercised  over  the  females  of  a  Scottish  family. 

The  manners  of  the  country  in  this,  as  in  many  other  re- 
spects, coincided  with  those  of  France  before  the  Kevolution. 
Young  women  of  the  higher  ranks  seldom  mingled  in  society 
until  after  marriage,  and,  both  in  law  and  fact,  were  held  to 
be  under  the  strict  tutelage  of  their  parents,  who  were  too  apt 
to  enforce  the  views  for  their  settlement  in  life,  without  paying 
any  regard  to  the  inclination  of  the  parties  chiefly  interested. 
On  such  occasions,  the  suitor  expected  little  more  from  his 
bride  than  a  silent  acquiescence  in  the  will  of  her  parents  ; 
and  as  few  opportunities  of  acquaintance,  far  less  of  intimacy, 
occurred,  he  made  his  choice  by  the  outside,  as  the  lovers 
in  the  Merchant  of  Venice  select  the  casket,  contented  to  trust 
to  chance  in  the  issue  of  the  lotter}^,  in  which  he  had  hazarded 
a  venture 

It  was  not  therefore  surprising,  such  being  the  general  man- 
ners of  the  age,  that  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw,  whom  dissipated 
habits  had  detached  in  some  degree  from  the  best  society, 
should  not  attend  particularly  to  those  feelings  in  his  elected 
bride  to  which  many  men  of  more  sentiment,  experience,  and 
reflection,  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  equally  indiffer- 
ent. He  knew  what  all  accounted  the  principal  point,  that 
her  parents  and  friends,  namely,  were  decidedly  in  his  favor, 
and  there  existed  most  powerful  reasons  for  their  predilection. 
In  truth,  the  conduct  of  the  Marquis  of  A since  Ravens- 
wood's  departure,  had  been  such  as  almost  to  bar   the   possi 


43$  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOO^. 

bility  of  his  kinsman's  union  with  Lucy  Ashton.  The  2»Iarquis 
was  Ravenswood's  sincere,  but  misjudging  friend  ;  or  rather, 
like  many  friends  and  patrons,  he  consulted  what  he  considered 
to  be  his  relation's  true  interest,  although  he  knew  that  in  doing 
so  he  ran  counter  to  his  inclinations. 

The  Marquis  drove  on,  therefore,  with  the  plentitude  of 
ministerial  authority,  an  appeal  to  the  British  House  of  Peers 
against  those  judgments  of  the  courts  of  law,  by  which  Sit 
William  became  possessed  of  Ravenswood's  hereditary  property. 
As  this  measure,  enforced  with  all  the  authority  of  power,  was 
new  in  Scottish  judicial  proceedings,  though  now  so  frequently 
resorted  to,  it  was  exclaimed  against  by  the  lawyers  on  the 
opposite  side  of  politics,  as  an  interference  with  the  civil  judica- 
ture of  the  country,  equally  new,  arbitrary,  and  tyrannical. 
And  if  it  thus  affected  even  strangers  connected  with  them  only 
by  political  party,  it  may  be  guessed  what  the  Ashton  family 
themselves  said  and  thought  under  so  gross  a  dispensation. 
Sir  William,  still  more  worldly-minded  than  he  was  timid,  was 
reduced  to  despair  by  the  loss  by  which  he  was  threatened. 
His  son's  haughtier  spirit  was  exalted  into  rage  at  the  idea  of 
being  deprived  of  his  expected  patrimony.  But  to  Lady  Ash- 
ton's  yet  more  vindictive  temper,  the  conduct  of  Ravenswood, 
or  rather  of  his  patron,  appeared  to  be  an  offence  challenging 
the  deepest  and  most  mortal  revenge.  Even  the  quiet  and  con- 
fiding temper  of  Lucy  herself,  swayed  by  the  opinions  expressed 
by  all  around  her,  could  not  but  consider  the  conduct  of  Ravens- 
wood  as  precipitate,  and  even  unkind.  "  It  was  my  father," 
she  repeated  with  a  sigh,  "  who  welcomed  him  to  this  place, 
and  encouraged,  or  at  least  allowed,  the  intimacy  between  us. 
Should  he  not  have  remembered  this,  and  requited  it  with  at 
least  some  moderate  degree  of  procrastination  in  the  assertion 
of  his  own  alleged  rights  ?  I  would  have  forfeited  for  him 
double  the  value  of  these  lands,  which  he  pursues  with  an  ardor 
that  shows  he  has  forgotten  how  much  I  am  implicated  in  the 
matter." 

Lucy,  however,  could  only  murmur  these  things  to  herself, 
unwilling  to  increase  the  prejudices  against  her  lover  enter- 
tained by  all  around  her,  who  exclaimed  against  the  steps 
pursued  on  his  account,  as  illegal,  vexatious,  and  tyrannical, 
resembling  the  worst  measures  in  the  worst  times  of  the  worst 
Stuarts,  and  a  degradation  of  Scotland,  the  decisions  of  whose 
learned  judg.  s  were  thus  subjected  to  the  review  of  a  court, 
composed,  indeed,  of  men  of  the  highest  rank,  but  who  were 
not  trained  to  the  study  of  any  municipal  law,  and  might  be 
supposed  specially  to  hold  in  contempt  that  of  Scotland.    As  4 


7'HE  BRIDR  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  237 

natura*  consequence  of  the  alleged  injustice  meditated  toward 
her  father,  every  means  was  resorted  to,  and  every  argument 
urged,  to  induce  Miss  Ashton  to  break  off  her  engagement  with 
Ravenswood,  as  being  scandalous,  shameful,  and  sinful,  formed 
with  the  mortal  enemy  of  her  family,  and  calculated  to  add 
bitterness  to  the  distress  of  her  parents. 

Lucy's  spirit,  however,  was  high  ;  and  although  unaided 
and  alone,  she  could  have  borne  much — she  could  have  en 
dured  the  repinings  of  her  father — his  murmurs  against  what 
he  called  the  tyrannical  usage  of  the  ruling  party — his  cease- 
less charges  of  ingratitude  against  Ravenswood — his  endless 
lectures  on  the  various  means  by  which  contracts  may  be  voided 
and  annuled — his  quotations  from  the  civil,  the  municipal,  and 
the  canon  law — and  his  prelections  upon  the.  pair ia  potcstas. 

She  might  have  borne  also  in  patience,  or  repelled  with 
scorn,  the  bitter  taunts  and  occasional  violence  of  her  brother. 
Colonel  Douglas  Ashton,  and  the  impertinent  and  intrusive 
interference  of  other  friends  and  relations.  But  it  was  beyond 
her  power  effectually  to  withstand  or  elude  the  constant  and 
unceasing  persecution  of  Lady  Ashton,  who,  laying  every  other 
wish  aside,  had  bent  the  whole  efforts  of  her  powerful  mind  ta 
break  her  daughter's  contract  with  Ravenswood,  and  to  place 
a  perpetual  bar  between  the  lovers,  by  effecting  Lucy's  unioa 
with  iiucklaw.  Far  more  deeply  skilled  than  her  husband  in 
the  recesses  of  the  human  heart,  she  was  aware,  that  in  this 
way  she  might  strike  a  blow  of  deep  and  decisive  vengeance 
upon  one  whom  she  esteemed  as  her  mortal  enemy  ;  nor  did 
she  hesitate  at  raising  her  arm,  although  she  knew  that  the 
wound  must  be  dealt  through  the  bosom  of  her  daughter.  With 
this  stern  and  fixed  purpose,  she  sounded  every  deep  and  shal- 
low of  her  daughter's  soul,  assumed  alternately  every  disguise 
of  manner  which  could  serve  her  object,  and  prepared  at  leisure 
every  species  of  dire  machinery  by  which  the  human  mind  can 
be  wrenched  from  its  settled  determination.  Some  of  these 
were  of  an  obvious  description,  ar.d  require  only  to  be  cursorily 
mentioned  ;  others  were  characteristic  of  the  time,  the  coun- 
try, and  the  persons  engaged  in  this  singular  drama. 

It  was  of  the  last  consequence  that  all  intercourse  betwixt 
the  lovers  shouid  be  stopped,  and  by  dint  of  gold  and  authority, 
Lady  Ashton  contrived  to  possess  herself  of  such  a  complete 
command  of  all  who  were  placed  around  her  daughter,  that, 
in  fact,  no  leaguered  fortress  was  ever  more  completely  block- 
aded ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  to  all  outward  appearance,  Miss 
Ashton  lay  under  no  restriction.  Tlie  verge  of  her  parents' 
domains  became,  in  respect  to  her,  like  the  viewless  and  en- 


^38 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


chanted  line  drawn  around  a  fairy  castle,  where  nothing  un 
permitted  can  either  enter  from  without,  or  escape  from  within. 
Thus  every  letter,  in  which  Ravenswood  conveyed  to  Lucy 
Ashton  the  indispensable  reasons  which  detained  him  abroad, 
and  more  than  one  note  which  poor  Lucy  had  addressed  to 
to  him  through  what  she  thought  a  secure  channel,  fell  into 
the  hands  of  her  mother.  It  could  not  be  but  that  the  tenor 
of  these  intercepted  letters,  especially  those  of  Ravenswood, 
should  contain  something  to  irritate  the  passions,  and  fortify 
the  obstinacy,  of  her  into  whose  hands  they  fell ;  but  Lady 
Ashton's  passions  were  too  deep-rooted  to  require  this  fresh 
food.  She  burnt  the  papers  as  regularly  as  she  perused  them  \ 
and  as  they  consumed  into  vapor  and  tinder,  regarded  them 
with  a  smile  upon  her  compressed  lips,  and  an  exultation  in 
her  steady  eye,  which  showed  her  confidence  that  the  hopes  of 
the  writers  should  soon  be  rendered  equally  unsubstantial. 

It  usually  happens  that  fortune  aids  the  machinations  of 
those  who  are  prompt  to  avail  themselves  of  every  chance  that 
offers.  A  report  was  wafted  from  the  Continent,  founded,  like 
others,  of  the  same  sort,  upon  many  plausible  circumstances, 
but  without  any  real  basis,  stating  the  Master  of  Ravenswood 
to  be  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  a  foreign  lady  of  fortune  and 
distinction.  This  was  greedily  caught  up  by  both  the  political 
parties,  who  were  at  once  struggling  for  power  and  for  popular 
favor,  and  who  seized,  as  usual,  upon  the  most  private  circum- 
stances in  the  lives  of  each  other's  partisans,  to  convert  them 
into  subjects  of  political  discussion. 

The  Marquis  of  A gave  his  opinion  aloud  and  jDublicly, 

not  indeed  in  the  coarse  terms  ascribed  to  him  by  Captain 
Craigengelt,  but  in  a  manner  sufficiently  offensive  to  the  Ash- 
tons  : — "Rethought  the  report,"  he  said,  "highly  probable, 
and  heartily  wished  it  might  be  true.  Such  a  match  was  fitter 
and  far  more  creditable  for  a  spirited  young  fellow,  than  a 
marriage  with  the  daughter  of  an  old  Whig  lawyer,  whose 
chicanery  had  so  nearly  ruined  his  father." 

The  other  party,  of  course,  laying  out  of  view  the  opposition 
which  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  received  from  Miss  Ashton's 
family,  cried  shame  upon  his  fickleness  and  perfidy,  as  if  he  had 
seduced  the  young  lady  into  an  engagement,  and  wilfully  and 
causelessly  abandoned  her  for  another. 

Sufficient  care  was  taken  that  this  report  should  find  its 
way  to  Ravenswood  Castle  through  every  various  channel, 
Lady  Ashton  being  well  aware,  that  the  very  reiteration  of  the 
same  rumor  from  so  many  quarters  could  not  but  give  it  a  sem^ 
blance  of  truth.     By  some  it  was  told  as  a  piece  of  ordinary 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


239 


news,  by  some  communicated  as  serious  intelligence  ;  now  it 
was  whispered  to  Lucy  Ashton's  ear  in  the  tone  of  maHgnant 
pleasantry,  and  now  transmitted  to  her  as  a  matter  of  grave 
and  serious  warning. 

Even  the  boy  Henry  was  made  the  instrument  of  adding  to 
his  sister's  torments.  One  morning  he  rushed  into  the  room 
with  a  willow  branch  in  his  hand,  which  he  told  her  had  arrived 
that  instant  from  Germany  for  her  special  wearing.  Lucy,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  remarkably  fond  of  her  younger  brother,  and 
at  that  moment  his  wanton  and  thoughtless  unkindness  seemed 
more  keenly  injurious  than  even  the  studied  insults  of  her  elder 
brother.  Her  grief,  however,  had  no  shade  of  resentment ;  she 
folded  her  arms  about  the  boy's  neck,  and  saying,  faintly,  "  Poor 
Henry  !  you  speak  but  what  they  tell  you,"  she  burst  into  a 
flood  of  unrestrained  tears.  The  boy  was  moved  nothwithstand- 
ing  the  thoughtlessness  of  his  age  and  character.  "  The  devil 
take  me,"  said  he,  "Lucy,  if  I  fetch  you  any  more  of  these 
tormenting  messages  again  ;  for  I  like  you  better,"  said  he, 
kissing  away  the  tears,  "  than  the  whole  pack  of  them ;  and  you 
shall  have  my  gray  pony  to  ride  on,  and  you  shall  canter  him 
if  you  like, — ay,  and  ride  beyond  the  village,  too,  if  you  have  a 
mind." 

"  Who  told  you,"  said  Lucy,  "  that  I  am  not  permitted  to 
ride  where  I  please  ?  " 

"  That's  a  secret,"  said  the  boy ;  "  but  you  will  find  you  can 
never  ride  beyond  the  village  but  your  horse  will  cast  a  shoe,  or 
fall  lame,  or  the  castle  bell  will  ring,  or  something  will  happen 
to  bring  you  back. — But  if  I  tell  you  more  of  these  things, 
Douglas  will  not  get  me  the  pair  of  colors  they  have  promised 
me,  and  so  good-morrow  to  you." 

This  dialogue  plunged  Lucy  in  still  deeper  dejection,  as  it 
tended  to  show  her  plainly,  what  she  had  for  some  time  sus- 
pected, that  she  was  little  better  than  a  prisoner  at  large  in  hei 
father's  house.  We  have  described  her  in  the  outset  of  our 
story  as  of  a  romantic  disposition,  delighting  in  tales  of  love 
and  wonder,  and  readily  identifying  herself  with  the  situation 
of  those  legendary  heroines,  with  whose  adventures,  for  want 
of  better  reading,  her  memory  had  become  stocked.  The  fairy 
wand,  with  which  in  her  solitude  she  had  delighted  to  raise 
Visions  of  enchantment,  became  now  the  rod  of  a  magician,  the 
bond  slave  of  evil  genii,  serving  only  to  invoke  spectres  at 
which  the  exorcist  trembled.  She  felt  herself  the  object  of 
suspicion,  of  scorn,  of  dislike  at  least,  if  not  of  hatred,  to  her 
own  family;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  abandoned  by 
the  very  person  on  whose  account  she  was  exposed  to  the 


240  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

enmity  of  all  around  her.  Indeed,  the  evidence  of  Ravens 
wood's  infidelity  began  to  assume  everyday  a  more  determined 
character. 

A  soldier  of  fortune,  of  the  name  of  Westenho,  an  old  familial 
of  Craigengelt's,  chanced  to  arrive  from  abroad  about  this  time. 
The  worthy  Captain,  though  without  any  precise  communication 
with  Lady  Ashton,  always  acted  most  regularly  and  sedulously 
in  support  of  her  plans,  and  easily  prevailed  upon  his  friend, 
by  dint  of  exaggeration  of  real  circumstances,  and  coining  of 
others,  to  give  explicit  testimony  to  the  truth  of  Ravenswood's 
approaching  marriage. 

Thus  beset  on  all  hands,  and  in  a  manner  reduced  to  despair, 
Lucy's  temper  gave  way  under  the  pressure  of  constant  affliction 
and  persecution.  She  became  gloomy  and  abstracted,  and  con- 
trary to  her  natural  and  ordinary  habit  of  mind,  sometimes 
turned  with  spirit,  and  even  fierceness,  on  those  by  whom  she 
was  long  and  closely  annoyed.  Her  health  also  began  to  be 
shaken,  and  her  hectic  cheek  and  wandering  eye  gave  symptoms 
of  what  is  called  a  fever  upon  the  spirits.  In  most  mothers  this 
would  have  moved  compassion  ;  but  Lady  Ashton,  compact  and 
firm  of  purpose,  saw  these  waverings  of  health  and  intellect 
with  no  greater  sympathy  than  that  with  which  the  hostile 
engineer  regards  the  towers  of  a  beleagured  city  as  they  reel 
under  the  discharge  of  his  artillery  ;  or  rather,  she  considered 
these  starts  and  inequalities  of  temper  as  symptoms  of  Lucy's 
expiring  resolution  ;  as  the  angler,  by  the  throes  and  convulsive 
exertions  of  the  fish  which  he  has  hooked,  becomes  aware  that 
he  soon  will  be  able  to  land  him.  To  accelerate  the  catastrophe 
in  the  present  case,  Lady  Ashton  had  recourse  to  an  expedient 
very  consistent  with  the  temper  and  credulity  of  those  times, 
but  which  the  reader  will  probably  pronounce  truly  detestablfl 
and  diabolical. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR,  24.1 


CHAPTER  THIRTIETH. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

In  which  a  witch  did  dwell,  in  loathly  weeds. 

And  wilful  want,  all  careless  of  her  needs ; 

So  choosing  solitaiy  to  abide, 

Far  from  all  neighbors,  that  her  devilish  deeds 

And  hellish  arts  from  ]jeople  she  might  hide, 

And  hurt  far  off,  unknown,  whome'er  she  envied. 

Fairy  Queen. 

The  health  of  Lucy  Ashton  soon  required  the  assistance  of 
a  person  more  skilful  in  the  ofhce  of  a  sick-nurse  than  the  fe- 
male domestics  of  the  family.  Ailsie  Gourlay,  sometimes  called 
the  Wise  Woman  of  Bowden,  was  the  person  whom,  for  her  own 
strong  reasons,  Lady  Ashton  selected  as  an  attendant  upon  her 
daughter. 

This  woman  had  acquired  a  considerable  reputation  among 
the  ignorant  by  the  pretended  cures  which  she  performed,  espe- 
cially moncoj)ics,  as  the  Scotch  call  them,  or  mysterious  diseases, 
which  bafifle  the  regular  physician.  Her  pharmacopoeia  con- 
sisted partly  of  herbs  selected  in  planetary  hours,  partly  of 
words,  signs,  and  charms,  which  sometimes,  perhaps,  produced 
a  favorable  influence  upon  the  imagination  of  her  patients. 
Such  was  the  avowed  profession  of  Lucky  Gourlay,  which,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  was  looked  upon  with  a  suspicious  eye, 
not  only  by  her  neighbors,  but  even  by  the  clergy  of  the  dis- 
trict. In  private,  however,  she  traded  more  deeply  in  the  occult 
sciences;  for,  notwithstanding  the  dreadful  punishments  inflicted 
upon  the  supposed  crime  of  witchcraft,  there  wanted  not  those 
who,  steeled  by  want  and  bitterness  of  spirit,  were  willing  to 
adopt  the  hateful  and  dangerous  character  for  the  sake  of  the 
influence  which  its  terrors  enabled  them  to  exercise  in  the  vicin- 
ity, and  the  wretched  emolument  which  they  could  extract  by 
the  practice  of  their  supposed  art. 

Ailsie  Gourlay  was  not  indeed  fool  enough  to  acknowledge 
a  compact  with  the  Evil  One,  which  would  have  been  a  swift 
and  ready  road  to  the  stake  and  tar-barrel.  Her  fairy,  she  said, 
like  Caliban's,  was  a  harmless  fairy.  Nevertheless,  she  "  spaed 
fortunes,"  read  dreams,  composed  philters,  discovered  stolen 
goods,  and  made  and  dissolved  matches  as  successfully  as  if, 
according  to  the  belief  of  the  whole  neighborhood,  she  had  been 


242  THE   BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

aided  in  those  arts  by  Beelzebub  himself.  The  worst  of  the 
pretenders  to  these  sciences  was,  that  they  were  generally  per- 
sons who,  feeling  themselves  odious  to  humanity,  were  careless 
of  what  they  did  to  deserve  the  public  hatred.  Real  crimes 
were  often  committed  under  pretence  of  magical  imposture  ; 
and  it  somewhat  relieves  the  disgust  with  which  we  read,  in  the 
criminal  records,  the  conviction  of  these  wretches,  to  be  aware 
that  many  of  them  merited,  as  poisoners,  suborners,  and  dia 
bolical  agents  in  secret  domestic  crimes,  the  severe  fate  to  which 
they  were  condemned  for  the  imaginary  guilt  of  witchcraft. 

Such  was  Ailsie  Gourlay,  whom,  in  order  to  attain  the  abso- 
lute subjugation  of  Lucy  Ashton's  mind,  her  mother  thought  it 
fitting  to  place  neo.r  her  person.  A  woman  of  less  consequence 
than  Lady  Ashton  had  not  dared  to  take  such  a  step  ;  but  her 
high  rank  and  strength  of  character  set  her  above  the  censure 
of  the  world,  and  she  was  allowed  to  have  selected  for  het 
daughter's  attendant  the  best  and  most  experienced  sick-nurse 
"  and  mediciner  "  in  the  neighborhood,  where  an  inferior  person 
would  have  fallen  under  the  reproach  of  calling  in  the  assist- 
ance of  a  partner  and  ally  of  the  great  Enemy  of  Mankind. 

The  beldam  caught  her  cue  readily  and  by  innuendo,  with- 
out giving  Lady  Ashton  the  pain  of  distinct  explanation.  She 
was  in  many  respects  qualified  for  the  part  she  played,  which 
indeed  could  not  be  efficiently  assumed  without  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  human  heart  and  passions.  Dame  Gourlay  per- 
ceived that  Lucy  shuddered  at  her  external  appearance,  which 
we  have  already  described  when  we  found  her  in  the  death- 
chamber  of  blind  Alice  ;  and  wliile  internally  she  hated  the 
poor  girl  for  the  involuntary  horror  with  which  she  saw  she  was  re- 
garded, she  commenced  her  operations  by  endeavoring  to  efface 
01  overcome  those  prejudices  which,  in  her  heart,  she  resented 
as  mortal  offences.  This  was  easily  done,  for  the  hag's  exter- 
nal ugliness  was  soon  balanced  by  a  show  of  kindness  and  in- 
terest, to  which  Lucy  had  of  late  been  little  accustomed ;  her 
attentive  services  and  real  skill  gained  her  the  ear,  if  not  the 
confidence,  of  her  patient ;  and  under  pretence  of  diverting  the 
solitude  of  a  sick  room,  soon  led  her  attention  captive  by  the 
legends  in  which  she  was  well  skilled,  and  to  which  Lucy's  habits 
of  reading  and  reflection  induced  her  to  "  lend  an  attentive 
ear."  Dame  Gourlay's  tales  were  at  first  of  a  mild  and  interest- 
ing character — 

Of  fays  that  nightly  dance  upon  the  wold, 
And  lovers  doom'd  to  wander  and  to  weep, 
And  castles  high,  where  wicked  wizards  keep 
Tbeir  captive  thralls. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


243 


Gradually,  however,  they  assumed  a  darker  and  more  mys- 
terious character,  and  became  such  as,  told  by  the  midnight 
lamp,  and  enforced  by  the  tremulous  tone,  the  quivering  and 
livid  lip,  the  uplifted  skinny  fore-finger,  and  the  shaking  head 
of  the  blue-eyed  hag,  might  have  appalled  a  less  credulous  ima- 
gination, in  an  age  more  hard  of  belief.  The  old  Sycorax  saw 
her  advantage,  and  gradually  narrowed  her  magic  circle  around 
the  devoted  victim  on  whose  spirit  she  practised.  Her  legends 
began  to  relate  to  the  fortunes  of  the  Ravenswood  family,  whose 
ancient  grandeur  and  portentous  authority,  credulity  had  graced 
with  so  many  superstitious  attributes.  The  story  of  the  fatal 
fountain  was  narrated  at  full  length,  and  with  formidable  addi- 
tions, by  the  ancient  sibyl.  The  prophecy,  quoted  by  Caleb, 
concerning  the  dead  bride,  who  was  to  be  won  by  the  last  of 
the  Ravenswoods,  had  its  own  mysterious  commentary  ;  and 
the  singular  circumstance  of  the  apparition,  seen  by  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood  in  the  forest,  having  partly  transpired  through 
his  hasty  inquiries  in  the  cottage  of  old  Alice,  formed  a  theme 
for  many  exaggerations. 

Lucy  might  have  despised  these  tales,  if  they  had  been  re- 
lated concerning  another  family,  or  if  her  own  situation  had 
been  less  despondent.  But  circumstanced  as  she  was,  the  idea 
that  an  evil  fate  hung  over  her  attachment  became  predominant 
over  her  other  feelings  ;  and  the  gloom  of  superstition  darkened 
a  mind,  already  sufficiently  weakened  by  sorrow,  distress,  un- 
certainty, and  an  oppressive  sense  of  desertion  and  desolation. 
Stories  were  told  by  her  attendant  so  closely  resembling  her 
own  in  their  circumstances,  that  she  was  gradually  led  to  con- 
verse upon  such  tragic  and  mystical  subjects  with  the  beldam, 
and  to  repose  a  sort  of  confidence  in  the  sibyl,  whom  she  still 
regarded  with  involuntary  shuddering.  Dame  Gourly  knew  how 
to  avail  herself  of  this  imperfect  confidence.  She  directed 
Lucy's  thoughts  to  the  means  of  inquiring  into  futurity, — the 
surest  mode,  perhaps,  of  shaking  the  understanding  and  de- 
stroying the  spirits.  Omens  were  expounded,  dreams  were  in- 
terpreted, and  other  tricks  of  jugglery  perhaps  resorted  to,  by 
which  the  pretended  adepts  of  the  period  deceived  and  fasci- 
nated their  deluded  followers.  I  find  it  mentioned  in  the 
articles  of  dittay  against  Ailsie  Gourlay — (for  it  is  some  com-' 
fort  to  know  that  the  old  hag  was  tried,  condemned,  and  burned 
on  the  top  of  North  Berwick  Law,  by  sentence  of  a  commission 
from  the  Privy  Council), — I  find,  I  say,  it  was  charged  against 
her,  among  other  offences,  that  she  had,  by  the  aid  and  delu- 
sions of  Satan,  shown  to  a  young  person  of  quality,  in  a  mirror 
glass,  a  gentleman  then  abroad,  to  whom  the  said  young  person 


244 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LA.WJlTERMOOR. 


was  betrothed,  and  who  appeared  in  the  vision  to  be  in  the  act 
of  bestowing  his  hand  upon  another  lady.  But  this  and  some 
other  parts  of  the  record  appear  to  have  been  studiously  left 
imperfect  in  names  and  dates,  probably  out  of  regard  to  the 
honor  of  the  families  concerned.  If  Dame  Gourlay  was  able 
actually  to  play  off  such  a  piece  of  jugglery,  it  is  clear  she  must 
have  had  better  assistance  to  practise  the  deception,  than  her 
own  skill  or  funds  could  supply.  Meanwhile,  this  mysterious 
visionary  traffic  had  its  usual  effect,  in  unsettling  Miss  Ashton  s 
mind.  Her  temper  became  unequal,  her  health  decayed  daily, 
her  manners  grew  moping,  melancholy,  and  uncertain.  Her 
father,  guessing  partly  at  the  cause  of  these  appearances,  and 
exerting  a  degree  of  authority  unusual  \\\i\\  him,  made  a  point 
of  banishing  Dame  Gourlay  from  the  castle  ;  but  the  arrow  was 
shot,  and  was  rankling  barb-deep  in  the  side  of  the  wounded 
deer. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  departure  of  this  woman,  that  Lucy 
Ashton,  urged  by  her  parents,  announced  to  them,  with  a  viva- 
city by  which  they  were  startled,  "  that  she  was  conscious  hea- 
ven and  earth  and  hell  had  set  themselves  against  her  union 
with  Ravenswood  ;  still  her  contract,"  she  said,  "  was  a  bind- 
ing contract,  and  she  neither  would  nor  could  resign  it  without 
the  consent  of  Ravenswood.  Let  me  be  assured,"  she  concluded, 
"  that  he  will  free  me  from  my  engagement,  and  dispose  of  me 
as  you  please,  I  care  not  how.  When  the  diamonds  are  gone, 
what  signifies  the  casket  ?  " 

The  tone  of  obstinacy  with  which  this  was  said,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  unnatural  light,  and  her  hands  firmly  clinched, 
precluded  the  possibility  of  dispute  ;  and  the  utmost  length 
which  Lady  Ashlon's  art  could  attain,  only  got  her  the  privilege 
of  dictating  the  letter,  by  which  her  daughter  required  to  know 
of  Ravenswood  whether  he  intended  to  abide  by,  or  to  sur- 
render, what  she  termed,  "  their  unfortunate  engagement."  Of 
this  advantage  Lady  Ashton  so  far  and  so  ingeniously  availed 
herself,  that  according  to  the  wording  of  the  letter,  the  reader 
would  have  supposed  Lucy  was  calling  upon  her  lover  to 
renounce  a  contract  which  was  contrary  to  the  interests  and 
inclinations  of  both.  Not  trusting  even  to  this  point  of  decep- 
tion. Lady  Ashton  finally  determined  to  suppress  the  letter 
altogether,  in  hopes  that  Lucy's  impatience  would  induce  her 
to  condemn  Ravenswood  unheard  and  in  absence.  In  this  she 
was  disappointed.  The  time,  indeed,  had  long  elapsed  when 
an  answer  should  have  been  received  from  the  Continent.  The 
faint  ray  of  hope  which  still  glimmered  in  Lucy's  mind  was  weU 
nigh  extinguished.     But  the  idea  never  forsook  her,  that  her 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  245 

letter  might  not  have  been  duly  forwarded.  One  of  her  mother's 
new  machinations  unexpectedly  furnished  her  with  the  means 
of  ascertaining  what  she  most  desired  to  know. 

The  female  agent  of  hell  having  been  dismissed  from  the 
castle,  Lady  Ashton,  who  wrought  by  all  variety  of  means, 
resolved  to  employ,  for  working  the  same  end  on  Lucy's  mindj 
an  agent  of  a  very  different  character.  This  was  no  other  than 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,  a  Presbyterian  clergyman, 
formerly  mentioned,  of  the  very  strictest  order,  and  the  most 
rigid  orthodoxy,  whose  aid  she  called  in,  upon  the  principle  of 
the  tyratit  in  the  tragedy : — 

"  I'll  have  a  priest  shall  preach  her  from  her  faith. 
And  make  it  sin  not  to  renounce  that  vow, 
Which  I'd  have  broken." 

But  Lady  Ashton  was  mistaken  in  the  agent  she  had  selected. 
His  prejudices,  indeed,  were  easily  enlisted  on  her  side,  and  it 
was  no  difficult  matter  to  make  him  regard  with  horror  the 
prospect  of  a  union  betwixt  the  daughter  of  a  God-fearing,  pro- 
fessing, and  Presbyterian  family  of  distinction,  and  the  heir  of 
a  bloodthirsty  prelatist  and  persecutor,  the  hands  of  whose 
fathers  had  been  dyed  to  the  wrists  in  the  blood  of  God's  saints. 
This  resembled,  in  the  divine's  opinion,  the  union  of  a  Moabitish 
stranger  with  the  daughter  of  Zion.  But  with  all  the  more 
severe  prejudices  and  principles  of  his  sect,  Bide-the-Bent  pos- 
sessed a  sound  judgment,  and  had  learned  sympathy  even  in 
that  very  school  of  persecution,  where  the  heart  is  so  frequently 
hardened.  In  a  private  interview  with  Miss  Ashton,  he  was 
deeply  moved  by  her  distress,  and  could  not  but  admit  the 
justice  of  her  request  to  be  permitted  a  direct  communication 
with  Ravenswood,  upon  the  subject  of  their  solemn  contract. 
When  she  urged  to  him  the  great  uncertainty  under  which  she 
labored,  whether  her  letter  had  been  ever  forwarded,  the  old 
man  paced  the  room  with  long  steps,  shook  his  gray  head,  rested 
repeatedly  for  a  space  on  his  ivory-headed  staff,  and,  after  much 
hesitation,  confessed  that  he  thought  her  doubts  so  reasonable, 
that  he  would  himself  aid  in  the  removal  of  them. 

"  I  cannot  but  opine,  Miss  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  that  your  wor- 
shipful lady  mother  hath  in  this  matter  an  eagerness,  whilk, 
although  it  ariseth  doubtless  from  love  to  your  best  interests 
here  and  hereafter, — for  the  man  is  of  persecuting  blood,  and 
himself  a  persecutor,  a  cavalier  or  malignant,  and  a  scoffer,  who 
hath  no  inheritance  in  Jesse — ne\ertheless,  we  are  commanded 
to  do  justice  unto  all,  and  to  fulfil  our  bond  and  covenant,  as 
well  to  the  stranger,  as  to  him  who  is  in  brotherhood  with  uSi 


2^6  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 

Wherefore  myself,  even  I  myself,  will  be  aiding  unto  the  delivery 
of  your  letter  to  the  man  Edgar  Ravenswood,  trusting  that  the 
issue  thereof  may  be  your  deliverance  from  the  nets  in  which 
he  hath  sinfully  engaged  you.  And  that  I  may  do  in  this 
neither  more  nor  less  than  hath  been  warranted  by  your  honor- 
able parents,  I  pray  3'ou  to  transcribe,  without  increment  or 
subtraction,  the  letter  formerly  expeded  under  the  dictation  of 
your  right  honorable  mother  ;  and  I  shall  put  it  into  such 
sure  course  of  being  delivered,  that  if,  honored  young  madam, 
you  shall  receive  no  answer,  it  will  be  necessary  that  you  con- 
clude that  the  man  meaneth  in  silence  to  abandon  that  naughty 
contract,  which,  peradventure,  he  may  be  unwilling  directly  to 
restore." 

Lucy  eagerly  embraced  the  expedient  of  the  worthy  divine. 
A  new  letter  was  written  in  the  precise  terms  of  the  former, 
and  consigned  by  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent  to  the  charge  of  Saun- 
ders Moonshine,  a  zealous  elder  of  the  church  when  on  shore, 
and  when  on  board  his  brig,  as  bold  a  smuggler  as  ever  ran 
out  a  sliding  bowsprit  to  the  winds  that  blow  betwixt  Campvere 
and  the  east  coast  of  Scotland.  At  the  recommendation  of 
his  pastor,  Saunders  readily  undertook  that  the  letter  should  be 
securely  conveyed  to  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  at  the  court 
where  he  now  resided. 

This  retrospect  became  necessary  to  explain  the  conference 
betwixt  Miss  Ashton,  her  mother,  and  Bucklaw,  which  we 
have  detailed  in  a  preceding  chapter. 

Lucy  was  now  like  the  sailor,  who,  while  drifting  through  a 
tempestuous  ocean,  clings  for  safety  to  a  single  plank,  his 
ix)wers  of  grasping  it  becoming  every  moment  more  feeble, 
and  the  deep  darkness  of  the  night  only  checkered  by  die 
flashes  of  lightning,  hissing  as  they  show  the  white  tops  of  the 
billows,  in  which  he  is  soon  to  be  ingulfed. 

Week  crept  away  after  week,  and  day  after  day.  St.  Jude's 
day  arrived,  the  last  and  protracted  term  to  which  Lucy  had 
limited  herself,  and  there  was  neither  letter  nor  news  of  Ra 
vans  wood. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  245 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FIRST. 

How  fair  these  names,  how  much  unlike  they  look 
To  all  the  blurr'd,  subscriptions  in  my  book  I 
The  bridegroom's  letters  stand  in  row  above, 
Tapering,  yet  straight,  like  pine-trees  in  his  grove  ; 
While  free  and  fine  the  bride's  appear  below, 
As  light  and  slender  as  her  jessamines  grow. 

Crabbe. 

St.  Jude's  day  came,  the  term  assigned  by  Lucy  herself  as 
the  furthest  date  of  expectation,  and,  as  we  have  already  said, 
there  were  neither  letters  from,  nor  news  of,  Ravenswood.  But 
there  were  news  of  Bucklaw  and  of  his  trusty  associate 
Craigengelt,  who  arrived  early  in  the  morning  for  the  comple- 
tion of  the  proposed  espousals,  and  for  signing  the  necessary 
deeds. 

These  had  been  carefully  prepared  under  the  revisal  of  Sir 
(Villiam  Ashton  himself,  it  having  been  resolved,  on  account  of 
;he  state  of  Miss  Ashton's  health,  as  it  was  said,  that  none  save 
:he  parties  immediately  interested  should  be  present  when  the 
parchments  were  subscribed.  It  was  further  determined,  that 
the  marriage  should  be  solemnized  upon  the  fourth  day  after 
signing  the  articles,  a  measure  adopted  by  Lady  Ashton,  in 
order  that  Lucy  might  have  as  little  time  as  possible  to  recede, 
or  relapse  into  intractability.  There  was  no  appearance,  how- 
ever, of  her  doing  either.  She  heard  the  proposed  arrangement 
with  the  calra  indifference  of  despair,  or  rather  with  an  apathy 
arising  from  the  oppressed  and  stupefied  state  of  her  feelings. 
To  an  eye  so  unobserving  as  that  of  Bucklaw,  her  demeanor 
had  little  more  of  reluctance  than  might  suit  the  character  of 
a  bashful  young  lady,  who,  however,  he  could  not  disguise  from 
himself,  was  complying  with  the  choice  of  her  friends,  rather 
than  exercising  any  personal  predilection  in  his  favor. 

When  the  morning  compliments  of  the  bridegroom  had 
been  paid,  Miss  Ashton  was  left  for  some  time  to  herself ;  her 
mother  remarking  that  the  deeds  must  be  signed  before  the 
hour  of  noon,  in  order  that  the  marriage  might  be  happy. 

Lucy  suffered  herself  to  be  attired  for  the  occasion  as  the 
taste  of  her  attendants  suggested,  and  was  of  course  splendidly 
arrayed.  Her  dress  was  composed  of  white  satin  and  Brussels 
lace,  and  her  hair  arranged  with  a  profusion  of  jewels,  whose 


248  THE  BRIDE    OF  LAMXIEKMOOR. 

lustre  made  a  strange  contrast  to  the  deadly  paleness  of  her 
complexion,  and  to  the  trouble  which  dwelt  in  her  unsettled  eye. 

Her  toilette  was  hardly  finished,  ere  Henry  appeared  to 
conduct  the  passive  bride  to  the  state  apartment,  where  all  was 
prepared  for  signing  the  contract.  "  Do  you  know,  sister,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  to  have  Bucklaw  after  all,  instead  of 
Ravenswood,  who  looked  like  a  Spanish  grandee  come  to  cut 
our  throats,  and  trample  our  bodies  under  foot. — And  I  am 
glad  the  broad  seas  are  between  us  this  day,  for  I  shall  never 
forget  how  frightened  I  was  when  I  took  him  for  the  picture 
of  old  Sir  Malise  walked  out  of  the  canvas.  Tell  me  true,  are 
you  not  glad  to  be  fairly  shot  of  him  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  no  questions,  dear  Henry,"  said  his  unfortunate 
sister ;  "  there  is  little  more  can  happen  to  make  me  either 
glad  or  sorry  in  this  world." 

"  And  that's  what  all  young  brides  say,"  said  Henry,  "  and 
so  do  not  be  cast  down,  Lucy,  for  you'll  tell  another  tale  a 
twelvemonth  hence — and  1  am  to  be  bride's-man,  and  ride  be- 
fore you  to  the  kirk,  and  all  our  kitli,  kin,  and  allies,  and  all 
Bucklaws  are  to  be  mounted  and  in  order — and  I  am  to  JKive 
a  scarlet  laced  coat,  and  a  feathered  hat,  and  a  sword-belt, 
double  bordered  with  gold  and  point  d^Espagne,  and  a  dagger 
instead  of  a  sword ;  and  I  should  like  a  sword  much  better, 
but  my  father  won't  hear  of  it.  All  my  things,  and  a  hundred 
besides,  are  to  come  out  from  Edinburgh  to-night  ^vith  old 
Gilbert,  and  the  sumpter  mules — and  I  will  bring  them,  and 
show  them  to  you  the  instant  they  come." 

The  boy's  chatter  was  here  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Lady 
Ashton,  somewhat  alarmed  at  her  daughter's  stay.  With  one 
of  her  sweetest  smiles,  she  took  Lucy's  arm  under  her  own, 
and  led  her  to  the  apartment  wliere  her  presence  was  expected. 

There  were  only  present,  Sir  William  Ashton  and  Colonel 
Douglas  Ashton,  the  last  in  full  regimentals — Bucklaw,  in 
bridegroom  trim — Craigengelt,  freshly  equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
by  the  bounty  of  his  patron,  and  bedizened  with  as  much  lace 
as  might  have  become  the  dress  of  tlie  Copper  Captain — to- 
gether with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Bide-the-Bent ;  the  presence  of  a  min- 
ister being,  in  strict  Presbyterian  families,  an  indispensable 
requisite  upon  all  occasions  of  unusual  solemnity. 

Wines  and  refreshments  were  placed  on  a  table,  on  which 
the  writings  were  displayed,  ready  for  signature. 

But  before  proceeding  either  to  business  or  refreshments, 
Mr.  Bide-the-Bent,  at  a  signal  from  Sir  William  Ashton,  invited 
the  company  to  join  him  in  a  short  extemporary  prayer,  in  which 
he  implored  a  blessing  upon  the  contract  now  to  be  solemnized 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  4^ 

between  the  honorable  parties  then  present.  With  the  simpli- 
city of  his  times  and  profession,  which  permitted  strong  per- 
sonal allusions,  he  petitioned,  that  the  wounded  mind  of  one 
of  these  noble  parties  might  be  healed,  in  reward  of  her  com- 
pliance with  the  advice  of  her  right  honorable  parents  ;  and 
that,  as  she  had  proved  herself  a  child  after  God's  command- 
ment, by  honoring  her  father  and  mother,  she  and  hers  might 
enjoy  the  promised  blessing — length  of  days  in  the  land  here, 
and  a  happy  portion  hereafter  in  a  better  country.  He  prayed 
further,  that  the  bridegroom,  might  be  weaned  from  those  follies 
which  seduce  youth  from  the  path  of  knowledge  ;  that  he  might 
cease  to  take  delight  in  vain  and  unprofitable  company,  scoffers, 
rioters,  and  those  who  sit  late  at  the  wine  (here  Bucklaw  winked 
to  Craigengelt),  and  cease  from  the  society  that  causeth  to  err. 
A  suitable  supplication  in  behalf  of  Sir  William  and  Lady 
Ashton,  and  their  family,  concluded  this  religious  address, 
which  thus  embraced  every  individual  present,  excepting  Craig- 
engelt, whom  the  worthy  divine  probably  considered  as  past  all 
hopes  of  grace. 

The  business  of  the  day  now  went  forward ;  Sir  William 
Ashton  signed  the  contract  with  legal  solemnity  and  precision ; 
his  son,  with  military  nonchalance ;  and  Bucklaw,  having  sub- 
scribed as  rapidly  as  Craigengelt  could  manage  to  turn  the 
leaves,  concluded  by  wiping  his  pen  on  that  worthy's  new  laced 
cravat. 

It  was  now  Miss  Ashton's  turn  to  sign  the  writings,  and  she 
was  guided  by  her  watchful  mother  to  the  table  for  that  pur- 
pose. At  her  first  attempt  she  began  to  write  with  a  dry  pen, 
and  when  the  circumstance  was  pointed  out,  seemed  unable, 
after  several  attempts,  to  dip  it  in  the  massive  silver  inkstandish, 
which  stood  full  before  her.  Lady  Ashton's  vigilance  hastened 
to  supply  the  deficiency. 

I  have  myself  seen  the  fatal  deed,  and  in  the  distinct  charac- 
ters in  which  the  name  of  Lucy  Ashton  is  traced  on  each  page, 
there  is  only  a  very  slight  tremulous  irregularity,  indicative  of 
her  state  of  mind  at  the  time  of  the  subscription.  But  the  last 
signature  is  incomplete,  defaced,  and  blotted  ;  for  while  her 
hand  was  employed  in  tracing  it,  the  hasty  tramp  of  a  horse 
was  heard  at  the  gate,  succeeded  by  a  step  in  the  outer  gallery, 
and  a  voice,  which,  in  a  commanding  tone,  bore  down  the 
opposition  of  the  menials.  The  pen  dropped  from  Lucy's 
fingers,  as  she  exclaimed  with  a  faint  shriek — "  He  is  come— 
He  is  come.' " 


«5P 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR, 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SECOND. 

This  by  his  tongue  should  be  a  Montague  t 
Fetch  me  m}'  rapier,  boy ; 
Now,  by  the  faith  and  honor  of  my  kin, 
So  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 

Romeo  and  Juliet, 

Hardly  had  Miss  Ashton  dropped  the  pen,  when  the  door 
of  the  apartment  flew  open,  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  en- 
tered the  apartment. 

Lockhard  and  another  domestic,  who  had  in  vain  attempted 
to  oppose  his  passage  through  the  gallery  or  antechamber,  were 
seen  standing  on  the  threshold  transfixed  with  surprise,  which 
was  instantly  communicated  to  the  whole  party  in  the  state- 
room. That  of  Colonel  Douglas  Ashton  was  mingled  with  re- 
sentment ;  that  of  Bucklaw,  with  haughty  and  affected  indiffer- 
ence ;  the  rest,  even  Lady  Ashton  herself,  showed  signs  of  fear, 
and  Lucy  seemed  stiffened  to  stone  by  this  unexpected  appari- 
tion. Apparition  it  might  well  be  termed,  for  Ravenswood  had 
more  the  appearance  of  one  returned  from  the  dead,  than  of  a 
living  visitor. 

He  planted  himself  full  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  op- 
j  posite  to  the  table  at  which  Lucy  was  seated,  on  whom,  as  if 
/  '  she  had  been  alone  in  the  chamber,  he  bent  his  eyes  with  a 
mingled  expression  of  deep  grief  and  deliberate  indignation. 
His  dark-colored  riding  cloak,  displaced  from  one  shoulder, 
hung  around  one  side  of  his  person  in  the  ample  folds  of  the 
Spanish  mantle.  The  rest  of  his  rich  dress  was  travel-soil'd, 
and  deranged  by  hard  riding.  He  had  a  sword  by  his  side,  and 
pistols  in  his  belt.  His  slouched  hat,  which  he  had  not  re- 
moved at  entrance,  gave  an  additional  gloom  to  his  dark  feat- 
ures, which,  wasted  by  sorrow,  and  marked  by  the  ghastly  look 
communicated  by  long  illness,  added  to  a  countenance  naturally 
somewhat  stern  and  wild  a  fierce  and  even  savage  expression. 
The  matted  and  disheveled  locks  of  hair  which  escaped  from 
under  his  hat,  together  with  his  fixed  and  unmoved  posture, 
made  his  head  more  resemble  that  of  a  marble  bust  than  that 
of  a  living  man.  He  said  not  a  single  word,  and  there  was  a 
deep  silence  in  the  company  for  more  than  two  minutes. 

It  was  broken  by  Lady  Ashton,  who  in  that  space  partly  re- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


2S« 


covered  her  natural  audacity.  She  demanded  to  know  the 
cause  of  this  unauthorized  intrusion. 

"  That  is  a  question,  madam,"  said  her  son,  "  which  I  have 
the  best  right  to  ask — and  I  must  request  ihe  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood  to  follow  me,  where  he  can  answer  it  at  leisure." 

Bucklaw  interposed,  saying,  "  No  man  on  earth  should  usurp 
his  previous  right  in  demanding  an  explanation  from  the  Master. 
— Craigengelt,"  he  added,  in  an  undertone,  "  d — n  ye,  why  do 
you  stand  staring  as  if  ye  saw  a  ghost  ?  fetch  me  my  sword  from 
the  gallery." 

"  I  will  relinquish  to  none,"  said  Colonel  Ashton,  "  my  right 
of  calling  to  account  the  man  who  has  offered  this  unparalleled 
affront  to  my  family." 

"  Be  patient,  gentlemen,"  said  Ravenswood,  turning  sternly 
toward  them,  and  waving  his  hand  as  if  to  impose  silence  on 
their  altercation.  "  If  you  are  as  weary  of  your  lives  as  I  am, 
I  will  find  time  and  place  to  pledge  mine  against  one  or  both; 
at  present,  I  have  no  leisure  for  the  disputes  of  triflers." 

"  Triflers  !  echoed  Colonel  Ashton,  half  unsheathing  his 
sword,  while  Bucklaw  laid  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  that  which 
Craigengelt  had  just  reached  him. 

Sir  William  Ashton,  alarmed  for  his  son's  safety,  rushed  be- 
tween the  young  men  and  Ravenswood,  exclaiming,  "  My  son, 
I  command  you — Bucklaw,  I  entreat  you — keep  the  peace  in 
the  name  of  the  Queen  and  of  the  law  !  " 

"  In  the  name  of  the  law  of  God,"  said  Bide-the-Bent,  ad- 
vancing also  with  uplifted  hands  between  Bucklaw,  the  Colonel 
and  the  object  of  their  resentment — "  In  the  name  of  him  who 
brought  peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  to  mankind,  I  implore — 
I  beseech — I  command  you  to  forbear  violence  toward  each 
other!  God  hateth  the  bloodthirsty  man — he  who  striketh  with 
the  sword,  shall  perish  with  the  sword." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  dog,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Ashton,  turn- 
ing fiercely  upon  him,  "  or  something  more  brutally  stupid,  to 
endure  this  insult  in  my  father's  house  ? — Let  me  go,  Bucklaw! 
He  shall  account  to  me,  or,  by  Heaven,  I  will  stab  him  wheie 
he  stands  1 " 

"  You  shall  not  touch  him  here,"  said  Bucklaw  ;  "  he  once 
gave  me  my  life,  and  were  he  the  devil  come  to  fly  away  with 
the  whole  house  and  generation,  he  shall  have  nothing  but  fair 
play." 

The  passions  of  the  two  young  men,  thus  counteracting  each 
other,  gave  Ravenswood  leisure  to  exclaim,  in  a  stern  and 
steady  voice,  "  Silence  ! — let  him  who  really  seeks  danger,  take 
the  fitting  time  when  it  js  to  be  found ;  my  mission  here  will  be 


252 


THE  BRIDE  CF  LAMMERMOOR. 


shortly  accomplished. — Is  that  your  handwriting,  madam  ?"  he 
added  in  a  softer  tone,  extending  toward  Miss  Ashton  her  last 
letter. 

A  faltering  "Yes,"  seemed  rather  to  escape  from  her  lips, 
than  to  be  uttered  as  a  voluntary  answer. 

"And  is  tfiis  also  your  handwriting.?"  extending  toward 
her  the  mutual  engagement. 

Lucy  remained  silent.  Terror,  and  yet  a  stronger  and  more 
confused  feeling,  so  utterly  disturbed  her  understanding,  that 
she  probably  scarcely  comprehended  the  question  that  was  put 
to  her. 

"  If  you  design,"  said  Sir  William  Ashton,  "  to  found  any 
legal  claim  on  that  paper,  sir,  do  not  expect  to  receive  any 
answer  to  an  extrajudicial  question." 

"  Sir  William  Ashton,"  said  Ravenswood,  "  I  pray  you,  and 
all  who  hear  me,  that  you  will  not  mistake  my  purpose.  If 
this  young  lady  of  her  own  free  will,  desires  the  restoration  of 
this  contract,  as  the  letter  would  seem  to  imply — there  is  not  a 
withered  leaf  which  this  autumn  wind  strews  on  the  heath,  that 
is  more  valueless  in  my  eyes.  But  I  must  and  will  hear  the 
truth  from  her  own  mouth — without  this  satisfaction  I  will  not 
leave  this  spot.  Murder  me  by  numbers  you  possibly  may  ;  but 
I  am  an  armed  man — I  am  a  desperate  man — and  I  will  not  die 
without  ample  vengeance.  This  is  my  resolution,  take  it  as  you 
may.  I  vvill  hear  her  determination  from  her  own  mouth  ; 
from  her  own  mouth,  alone,  and  without  witnesses  will  I  hear 
it.  Now,  choose,"  he  said,  drawing  his  sword  with  the  right 
hand,  and,  with  the  left,  by  the  same  motion  taking  a  pistol 
from  his  belt  and  cocking  it,  but  turning  the  point  of  one 
weapon,  and  the  muzzle  of  the  other,  to  the  ground, — "Choose 
if  you  will  have  this  hall  floated  with  blood,  or  if  you  will  grant 
me  the  decisive  interview  with  my  affianced  bride,  which  the 
laws  of  God  and  the  country  alike  entitle  me  to  demand." 

All  recoiled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  the  determined 
action  by  which  it  was  accompanied  ;  for  the  ecstacy  of  real 
desperation  seldom  fails  to  overpower  the  less  energetic  pas- 
sions by  which  it  may  be  opposed.  The  clergyman  was  the 
first  to  speak.  "  In  the  name  of  God,"  he  said,  "  receive  an 
overture  of  peace  from  the  meanest  of  his  servants.  What  this 
honorable  person  demands,  albeit  it  is  urged  with  over  violence, 
hath  yet  in  it  something  of  reason.  Let  him  hear  from  Miss 
Lucy's  own  lips  that  she  hath  dutifully  acceded  to  the  will  of 
her  parents,  and  repenteth  her  of  her  covenant  with  him ;  and 
when  he  is  assured  of  this  he  will  depart  in  peace  unto  his  own 
dwelling,  and  cumber  us  no  more.     Alas !  the  workings  of  the 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


253 


ancient  Adam  are  strong  even  in  the  regenerate — surely  we 
should  have  long-suffering  with  those  who,  being  yet  in  the 
gall  of  bitterness  and  bond  of  iniquity,  are  swept  forward  by 
the  uncontrolable  current  of  worldly  passion.  Let,  then,  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  have  the  interview  on  which  he  insisteth  ; 
it  can  be  but  as  a  passing  pang  to  this  honorable  maiden, 
since  her  faith  is  now  irrevocably  pledged  to  the  choice  of  her 
parents.  Let  it,  I  say,  be  thus  :  it  belongeth  to  my  functions 
to  entreat  your  honors'  compliance  with  this  healing  overture." 

"  Never  !  "  ansivered  Lady  Ashton,  whose  rage  had  now  over- 
come her  first  surprise  and  terror — "  never  shall  this  man  speak 
in  private  with  my  daughter,  the  affianced  bride  of  another  ! 
Pass  from  this  room  who  will,  I  remain  here.  I  fear  neither 
his  violence  nor  his  weapons,  though  some,"  she  said,  glancing 
a  look  toward  Colonel  Ashton,  "  who  bear  my  name,  appear 
more  moved  by  them.^' 

"  For  God's  sake,  madam,"  answered  the  worthy  divine, 
"add  not  fuel  to  firebrands.  The  Master  of  Ravenswood  can- 
not, I  am  sure,  object  to  your  presence,  the  young  lady's  state 
of  health  being  considered,  and  your  maternal  duty.  I  myself 
will  also  tarry  ;  peradventure  my  gray  hairs  may  turn  away 
wrath." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  do  so,  sir,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  and 
T,ady  Ashton  is  also  welcome  to  remain,  if  she  shall  think 
proper  ;  but  let  all  others  depart." 

"  Ravenswood,"  said  Colonel  Ashton,  crossing  him  as  he 
went  out,  "  you  shall  account  for  this  ere  long." 

"  When  you  please,"  replied  Ravenswood. 

"  But  I,"  said  Bucklaw,  with  a  half  smile,  "  have  a  prior 
demand  on  your  leisure,  a  claim  of  some  standing." 

"  Arrange  it  as  you  will,"  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  leave  me  but 
this  day  in  peace,  and  I  will  have  no  dearer  employment  on 
earth,  to-morrow,  than  to  give  you  all  the  satisfaction  you 
desire." 

The  other  gentlemen  left  the  apartment ;  but  Sir  William 
Ashton  lingered. 

"  Master  of  Ravenswood,"  he  said,  in  a  conciliating  tone, 
"  I  think  I  have  not  deserved  that  you  should  make  this  scan- 
dal and  outrage  in  my  family.  If  you  will  sheathe  your  sword, 
and  retire  with  me  into  my  study,  I  will  prove  to  you,  by  the 
most  satisfactory  arguments,  the  inutility  of  your  present  irre- 
gular procedure" 

"  To-morrow,  sir — to-morrow — to-morrow  I  will  hear  you  at 
length,"  reiterated  Ravenswood,  interrupting  him  ;  "  (his  day 
hath  its  own  sacred  and  indispensable  business." 


2r4  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

He  pointed  to  the  door,  and  S-ir  William  left  the  apartment 

Ravenswood  sheathed  his  sword,  uncocked  and  returned 
his  pistol  to  his  belt,  walked  deliberately  to  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, which  he  bolted — returned,  raised  his  hat  from  his  fore- 
head, and,  gazing  upon  Lucy  with  eyes  in  which  an  expression 
of  sorrow  overcame  their  late  fierceness,  spread  his  disheveled 
locks  back  from  his  face,  and  said,  "  Do  you  know  me,  Miss 
Ashton  ? — I  am  still  Edgar  Ravenswood."  She  was  silent,  and 
he  went  on  with  increasing  vehemence — "  I  am  still  that 
Edgar  Ravenswood,  who,  for  your  affection  renounced  the  dear 
ties  by  which  injured  honor  bound  him  to  seek  vengeance.  I 
am  that  Ravenswood,  who,  for  your  sake,  forgave,  nay,  clasped 
hands  in  friendship  with  the  oppressor  and  pillager  of  his  house 
— the  traducer  and  murderer  of  his  father." 

"  My  daughter,"  answered  Lady  Ashton,  interrupting  him, 
"  has  no  occasion  to  dispute  the  identity  of  your  person  ;  the 
venom  of  your  present  language  is  sufficient  to  remind  her, 
that  she  speaks  with  the  mortal  enemy  of  her  father." 

"  I  pray  you  to  be  patient,  madam,"  answered  Ravenswood, 
"  my  answer  must  come  from  her  own  lips — Once  more.  Miss 
Lucy  Ashton,  I  am  that  Ravenswood  to  whom  you  granted  the 
solemn  engagement,  which  you  now  desire  to  retract  and 
cancel," 

Lucy's  bloodless  lips  could  only  falter  out  the  words,  "  It 
was  my  mother." 

"  She  speaks  truly,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  "  it  was  I,  who, 
authorized  alike  by  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  advised  her,  and 
concurred  with  her,  to  set  aside  an  unhappy  and  precipitate  en- 
gagement, and  to  annul  it  by  the  authority  of  Scripture  itself." 

"  Scripture  !  "  said  Ravenswood,  scornfully. 

"  Let  him  hear  the  text,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  appealing  to  the 
divine,  "  on  which  you  yourself,  with  cautious  reluctance,  de- 
clared the  nullity  of  the  pretended  engagement  insisted  upon 
by  this  violent  man.' 

The  clergyman  took  his  clasped  Bible  from  his  pocket,  and 
read  the  following  words  :  ''  Jf  a  looinan  7'ozv  a  vow  unto  the 
Lord,  and  bind  herself  by  a  bond,  being  in  her  father's  house  in 
her  youth  ;  and  her  father  hear  her  vow,  and  her  bonds  where- 
u*th  she  hath  bound  her  sou/,  and  her  father  shall  hold  his  peace 
at  her :  then  all  her  vows  shall  stand,  every  vow  whereT.vith  sh& 
hath  bound  her  soul  shall  standi 

"  And  was  it  not  even  so  with  us  .? "  interrupted  Ravens- 
wood. 

"  Control  thy  impatience,  young  man,"  answered  the  divine, 
"  and  hear  what  follows  in  the  sacred  text ; — But  if  herfatJuf 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  255 

disallow  her  in  the  day  that  he  heareth  ;  not  any  of  her  V07vs,  or 
of  her  bonds  whereti.nth  she  hath  hound  her  soul,  shall  stand ; 
and  the  Lord  shall  forgive  her,  because  her  father  disallowed  her." 

"  And  was  not,  said  Lady  Ashton,  fiercely  and  triumphantly 
breaking  in, — "  was  not  ours  the  case  stated  in  the  holy  writ  ? 
— Will  this  person  deny,  that  the  instant  her  parents  lieard  of 
the  vow,  or  bond,  by  which  our  daughter  had  bound  her  soul, 
we  disallowed  the  same  in  the  most  express  terms,  and  in 
formed  him  by  writing  of  our  determination  ?  " 

"  And  is  this  all  ?  "  said  Ravenswood,  looking  at  Lucy, — "  are 
you  willing  to  barter  sworn  faith,  the  exercise  of  free  will, 
and  the  feelings  of  mutual  affection,  to  this  wretched  hypocriti- 
cal sophistr)'  ?  " 

"  Hear  him  !  "  said  Lady  Ashton,  looking  to  the  clergyman 
— "  hear  the  blasphemer  !  " 

"  May  God  forgive  him,"  said  Bide-the-Bent,  "  and  enlighten 
his  ignorance  !  " 

"  Hear  what  I  have  sacrificed  for  you,"  said  Ravenswood, 
still  addressing  Lucy,  "  ere  you  sanction  what  has  been  done  in 
your  name.  The  honor  of  an  ancient  family,  the  urgent  advice 
of  my  best  friends,  hav^e  been  in  vain  used  to  sway  my  resolu- 
tion ;  neither  the  arguments  of  reason,  nor  the  portents  of 
superstition  have  shaken  my  fidelity.  The  very  dead  have 
arisen  to  warn  me,  and  their  warning  has  been  despised.  Are 
you  prepared  to  pierce  my  heart  for  its  fidelity,  with  the  very 
weapon  which  my  rash  confidence  intrusted  to  your  grasp  ?  " 

"  Master  of  Ravenswood,"  said  Lady  Ashton,  "  you  have 
asked  what  questions  you  thought  fit.  You  see  the  total  incap- 
acity of  my  daughter  to  answer  you.  But  I  will  reply  for  her 
and  in  a  manner  whicTi  you  cannot  dispute.  You  desire  to  know 
whether  Lucy  Ashton,  of  her  own  free  will,  desires  to  annul  the 
engagement  into  which  she  has  been  trepanned.  You  have  her 
letter  under  her  own  hand,  demanding  the  surrender  of  it ;  and, 
in  yet  more  full  evidence  of  her  purpose,  here  is  the  contract 
which  she  has  this  morning  subscribed,  in  presence  of  this  rev- 
erend gentleman,  with  Mr.  Hayston  of  Bucklaw." 

Ravenswood  gazed  upon  the  deed,  as  if  petrified.  "  And  it 
was  without  fraud  or  compulsion,"  said  he,  looking  toward  the 
clergyman,  "  that  Miss  Ashton  subscribed  this  parchment  t  " 

"  I  vouch  it  upon  my  sacred  character." 

"  This  is  indeed,  madam,  an  undeniable  piece  of  evidence,' 
said  Ravenswood,  sternly;  "  and  it  will  be  equally  unnecessary 
and  dishonorable  to  waste  another  word  in  useless  remonstrance 
or  reproach.  There,  madam,"  he  said,  laying  down  before  Lucy 
the  signed  paper  and  the  broken  piece  of  gold — "  there  are  the 


256  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

evidences  of  your  fiist  engagement;  may  you  be  more  faithful 
to  that  which  you  have  just  formed.  I  will  trouble  you  to  return 
the  corresponding  tokens  of  my  ill-placed  confidence — I  ought 
rather  to  say  of  my  egregious  folly." 

Lucy  returned  the  scornful  glance  of  her  lover  with  a  gaze, 
from  which  perception  seemed  to  have  been  banished  ;  yet  she 
seemed  partly  to  have  understood  his  meaning,  for  she  raised 
her  hands  as  if  to  undo  a  blue  ribbon  which  she  wore  around 
her  neck.  She  was  unable  to  accomplish  her  purpose,  but  Lady 
Ashton  cut  the  ribbon  asunder,  and  detached  the  broken  piece 
of  gold,  which  Miss  Ashton  had  till  then  worn  concealed  in  her 
bosom  ;  the  written  counterpart  of  the  lover's  engagement  she 
for  some  time  had  had  in  her  own  possession.  With  a  haughty 
courtesy  she  delivered  both  to  Ravenswood,  who  was  much 
softened  when  he  took  the  piece  of  gold. 

"  And  she  could  wear  it  thus,"  he  said — speaking  to  himself 
■ — "  could  wear  it  in  her  very  bosom — could  wear  it  next  to  her 
heart — even  when — But  complaint  avails  not,"  he  said,  dashing 
from  his  eye  the  tear  which  had  gathered  in  it,  and  resuming 
the  stern  composure  of  his  manner.  He  strode  to  the  chimney, 
and  threw  into  the  fire  the  paper  and  piece  of  gold,  stamping 
upon  the  coals  with  the  heel  of  his  boot,  as  if  to  insure  their 
destruction,  "  I  will  be  no  longer,"  he  then  said,  "  an  intruder 
here — Your  evil  wishes,  and  your  worse  offices,  Lady  Ashton,  I 
will  only  return,  by  hoping  these  will  be  your  last  machina- 
tionsagainst  your  daughter's  honor  and  happiness. — And  to  you, 
madam,"  he  said,  addressing  Lucy,  "  I  have  nothing  further  to 
say,  except  to  pray  to  God  that  you  may  not  become  a  world's 
wonder  for  this  act  of  wilful  and  deliberate  perjury." — Having 
uttered  these  words,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  the  apart- 
ment. 

SirWilliam  Ashton,  by  entreaty  and  authority,  had  detained 
his  son  and  Bucklaw  in  a  distant  part  of  the  castle,  in  order  to 
prevent  their  again  meeting  with  Ravenswood  ;  but  as  the  Master 
descended  the  great  staircase,  Lockhard  delivered  him  a  billet, 
signed  Sholto  Douglas  Ashton,  requesting  to  know  where  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  would  be  heard  of  four  or  five  days  from 
hence,  as  the  writer  had  business  of  weight  to  settle  with  him, 
so  soon  as  an  important  family  event  had  taken  place. 

"  Tell  Colonel  Ashton,"  said  Ravenswood,  composedly,  "  I 
shall  be  found  at  Wolf's  Crag  when  his  leisure  serves  him." 

As  he  descended  the  outward  stair  which  led  from  the  ter- 
race, he  was  interrupted  a  second  time  by  Craigengelt,  who,  on 
the  part  of  his  principal,  the  Laird  of  Bucklaw,  expressed  a  hope, 
that  Ravenswood  would  not  leave  Scotland  within  ten  days  at 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


^57 


least,  as  he  had  both  former  and  recent  civilities  for  which  to 
express  his  gratitude. 

"  Tell  your  Master,"  said  Ravenswood,  fiercely,  "  to  choose 
his  own  time.  He  will  find  me  at  Wolf's  Crag,  if  his  purpose 
IS  not  forestalled." 

"  J/)' master  ?  "  replied  Craigengelt,  encouraged  by  seeing 
Colonel  Ashton  and  Bucklaw  at  the  bottom  of  the  terrace  ;  "give 
me  leave  to  say,  I  know  of  no  such  person  upon  earth  nor  will 
I  permit  such  language  to  be  used  to  me  !  " 

"  Seek  your  master,  then,  in  hell  !  "  exclaimed  Ravenswood, 
giving  way  to  the  passion  he  had  hitherto  restrained,  and  throw- 
ing Craigengelt  from  him  with  such  violence,  that  he  rolled 
down  the  steps,  and  lay  senseless  at  the  foot  of  them. — "  I  am 
a  fool,"  he  instantly  added,  "  to  vent  my  passion  upon  a  caitiff 
so  worthless." 

He  then  mounted  his  horse,  which  at  his  arrival  he  had 
secured  to  a  balustrade  in  front  of  the  castle,  rode  very  slowly 
past  Bucklaw  and  Colonel  Ashton,  raising  his  hat  as  he  passed 
each,  and  looking  in  their  faces  steadily  while  he  offered  this 
mute  saluation,  which  was  returned  by  both  with  the  same  stern 
gravity.  Ravenswood  walked  on  with  equal  deliberation  until 
he  reached  the  head  of  the  avenue,  as  if  to  show  that  he  rather 
courted  than  avoided  interruption.  When  he  had  passed  the 
the  upper  gate,  he  turned  his  horse,  and  looked  at  the  castle 
with  a  fixed  eye  ;  then  set  spurs  to  his  good  steed,  and  departed 
with  the  speed  of  a  demon  dismissed  by  the  exorcist. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-THIRD. 

Who  comes  from  the  bridal  chamber  ? 
It  is  Azrael,  the  angel  of  death. 

Thalaba. 

After  the  dreadful  scene  that  had  taken  place  at  the  castle, 
Lucy  was  transported  to  her  own  chamber,  where  she  remained 
for  some  time  in  a  state  of  absolute  stupor.  Yet  afterward,  in 
the  course  of  the  ensuing  day,  she  seemed  to  have  recovered, 
not  merely  hei  spirits  and  resolution,  but  a  sort  of  flighty  levity, 
that  was  foreign  to  her  character  and  situation,  and  which  was 
at  times  checkered  by  fits  of  deep  silence  and  melancholy,  and 
of  capricious  pettishness.  Lady  Ashton  became  much  alarmed 
and  consulted  the  family  physicians.  But  as  her  pulse  indi- 
cated no  change,  they  could  only  say  that  the  disease  was  oa 


2^8  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

the  spirits  and,  rcommended  gentle  exercise  and  amusement. 
Miss  Ashton  never  alluded  to  what  had  passed  in  the  state- 
room. It  seemed  doubtful  even  if  she  was  conscious  of  it,  for 
she  was  often  observed  to  raise  her  hands  to  her  neck,  as  it  in 
search  of  the  ribbon  that  had  been  taken  from  it,  and  muttej 
in  surprise  and  discontent,  when  she  could  not  find  it,  ''  It  was 
the  link  that  bound  me  to  life." 

Notwithstanding  all  these  remarkable  symptoms,  Lady  Ash- 
ton was  too  deeply  pledged  to  delay  her  daughter's  marriage 
even  in  her  present  state  of  health.  It  cost  her  much  trouble 
to  keep  up  the  fair  side  of  appearances  toward  Bucklaw.  She 
was  well  aware,  that  if  he  once  saw  any  reluctance  on  her 
daughter's  part,  he  would  break  off  the  treaty,  to  her  great  per- 
sonal shame  and  dishonor.  She  therefore  resolved,  that,  if 
Lucy  continued  passive,  the  marriage  should  take  place  upon 
the  day  that  had  been  previously  fixed,  trusting  that  a  change 
of  place,  of  situation,  and  of  character,  would  operate  a  more 
speedy  and  eflfectual  cure  upon  the  unsettled  spirits  of  her 
daughter,  than  could  be  attained  by  the  slow  measures  which 
the  medical  men  recommended.  Sir  William  Ashton's  views 
of  family  aggrandizement,  and  his  desire  to  strengthen  himself 

against  the  measures  of  the  Marquis  of  A ,  readily  induced 

him  to  acquiesce  in  what  he  could  not  have  perhaps  resisted  if 
willing  to  do  so.  As  for  the  young  men,  Bucklaw  and  Colonel 
Ashton,  they  protested,  that  after  what  had  happened,  it  would 
be  most  dishonorable  to  postpone  for  a  single  hour  the  time 
appointed  for  the  marriage,  as  it  would  be  generally  ascribed 
to  their  being  intimidated  by  the  intrusive  visit  and  threats  of 
Ravenswood. 

Bucklaw  would  indeed  have  been  incapable  of  such  precipi- 
tation, had  he  been  aware  of  the  state  of  Miss  Ashton's  health, 
or  rather  of  her  mind.  But  custom,  upon  these  occasions,  per- 
mitted only  brief  and  sparing  intercourse  between  the  bride- 
groom and'  the  betrothed  ;  a  circumstance  so  well  improved  by 
Lady  Ashton,  that  Bucklaw  neither  saw  nor  suspected  the  real 
state  of  the  health  and  feelings  of  his  unhappy  bride. 

On  the  eve  of  the  bridal  day,  Lucy  appeared  to  have  one  of 
her  fits  of  levity,  and  surveyed  with  a  degree  of  girlish  interest, 
the  various  preparations  of  dress,  etc.  etc.,  which  the  different 
members  of  the  family  had  prepared  for  the  occasion. 

The  morning  dawned  bright  and  cheerily.  The  bridal  guests 
assembled  in  gallant  troops  from  distant  quarters.  Not  only 
the  relations  of  Sir  William  Ashton,  and  the  still  more  dignified 
connections  of  his  lady,  together  with  the  numerous  kinsmen 
and  allies  of  the  bridegroom,  were  present  upon  this  joyful  cere- 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


259 


mony,  gallantly  mounted,  arrayed  and  caparisoned,  but  almost 
every  Presbyterian  family  of  distinction,  within  fifty  milesj 
made  a  point  of  attendance  upon  an  occasion  which  was  con- 
sidered as  giving  a  sort  of  triumph  over  the  Marquis  of  A , 

in  the  person  of  his  kinsman.  Splendid  refreshments  awaited 
the  guests  on  their  arrival,  and  after  these  were  finished,  the 
cry  was  to  horse.  The  bride  was  led  forth  betwixt  her  brother 
Henry  and  her  mother.  Her  gayety  of  the  preceding  day  had 
given  rise  to  a  deep  shade  of  melancholy,  which,  however  did 
not  misbecome  an  occasion  so  momentous.  There  was  a  light 
in  her  eyes,  and  a  color  in  her  cheek,  which  had  not  been 
kindled  for  many  a  day,  and  which,  joined  to  her  great  beauty, 
and  the  splendor  of  her  dress,  occasioned  her  entrance  to  be 
greeted  with  a  universal  murmur  of  applause,  in  which  even 
the  ladies  could  not  refrain  from  joining.  While  the  cavalcade 
were  getting  to  horse,  Sir  William  Ashton,  a  man  of  peace  and 
of  form,  censured  his  son  Henry  for  having  begirt  himself  with 
a  military  sword  of  preposterous  length,  belonging  to  his  brother, 
Colonel  Ashton. 

"  If  you  must  have  a  weapon,"  he  said,  "  upon  such  a 
peaceful  occasion,  why  did  you  not  use  the  short  poniard  sent 
from  Edinburgh  on  purpose  ?  " 

The  boy  vindicated  himself,  by  saving  it  was  lost. 

"You  put  it  out  of  the  way  yourself,  I  suppose,"  said  his 
father,  "  out  of  ambition  to  wear  that  preposterous  thing,  which 
might  have  served  Sir  William  Wallace — But  never  mind,  get 
to  horse  now,  and  take  care  of  your  sister." 

The  boy  did  so,  and  was  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  gallant 
train.  At  the  time,  he  was  too  full  of  his  own  appearance,  his 
sword,  his  laced  cloak,  his  feathered  hat,  and  his  managed 
horse,  to  pay  much  regard  to  anything  else ;  but  he  afterward 
remembered  to  the  hour  of  his  death,  that  when  the  hand  of 
his  sister,  by  which  she  supported  herself  on  the  pillion  be- 
hind him,  touched  his  own,  it  felt  as  wet  and  cold  as  sepul- 
chral marble. 

Glancing  wide  over  hill  and  dale,  the  fair  bridal  procession 
at  last  reached  the  parish  church,  wliich  they  nearly  filled ; 
for,  besides  domestics,  above  a  hundred  gentlemen  and  ladies 
were  present  upon  the  occasion.  Tlie  marriage  ceremony  was 
performed  according  to  the  riles  of  the  Presbyterian  persua- 
sion, to  which  Bucklaw  of  late  had  judged  it  proper  to  conform. 

On  the  outside  of  the  church  a  liberal  dole  was  distributed 
to  the  poor  of  the  neighboring  parishes,  under  the  direction  of 
Johnny  Mortsheugh,  who  had  lately  been  promoted  from  his 
desolate  quarters  at  the  Hermitage,  to  fill  the  more  eligible 


2Go  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

situation  of  sexton  at  the  parish  church  of  Ravenswood.  Dame 
Gourlay,  with  two  of  her  contemporaries,  the  same  who  assisted 
at  Ahce's  late-wake,  seated  apart  upon  a  flat  monument  or 
through-static,  sate  enviously  comparing  the  shares  which  had 
been  allotted  to  them  in  dividing  the  dole. 

"  Johnny  Mortsheugh,"  said  Annie  Winnie,  "  might  hae 
minded  auld  lang  syne,  and  thought  of  his  auld  kimmers,  for 
as  braw  as  he  is  with  his  new  black  coat.  I  hae  gotten  but 
five  herring  instead  o'  sax,  and  this  disna  look  like  a  gude  sax- 
pennys,  and  I  daresay  this  bit  morsel  o'  beef  is  an  unce  lighter 
than  ony  that's  been  dealt  round ;  and  it's  a  bit  o'  the  tenony 
hough,  mair  by  token  that  yours,  Maggie,  is  out  o'  the  back 
sey." 

"  Mine,  quo'  she  ?  "  mumbled  the  paralytic  hag,  "  mine  is 
half  banes,  I  trow.  If  grit  folk  gie  poor  bodies  ony  thing  for 
coming  to  their  weddings  and  burials,  it  suld  be  something  that 
wad  do  them  gude,  I  think." 

"  Their  gifts,"  said  Ailsie  Gourlay,  "  are  dealt  for  nae  love 
of  us — nor  out  of  respect  for  whether  we  feed  or  starve.  They 
wad  gie  us  whinstanes  for  loaves,  if  it  would  serve  their  ain 
vanity,  and  yet  they  expect  us  to  be  as  gratefu',  as  they  ca'  it, 
as  if  they  served  us  for  true  love  and  liking." 

"  And  that's  truly  said,"  answered  her  companion. 

"  But,  Ailsie  Gourlay,  ye're  the  auldest  o'  us  three,  did  ye 
ever  see  a  mair  grand  bridal  ?  " 

"I  winna  say  that  I  have,"  answered  the  hag;  "but  I 
think  soon  to  see  as  braw  a  burial." 

"  And  that  wad  please  me  as  weel,"  said  Annie  Winnie  ; 
"for  there's  as  large  a  dole,  and  folk  are  no  obliged  to  grin 
and  laugh,  and  mak  murgeons,  and  wish  joy  to  these  hellicat 
quality,  that  lord  it  ower  us  like  brute  beasts.  I  like  to  pack 
the  dead-dole  in  my  lap,  and  rin  ower  my  auld  rhyme — 

*  My  loaf  in  my  lap,  mv  penny  in  my  purse. 
Thou  art  ne'er  the  bcuei,  aiid  I'm  ne'er  the  worse.'  "  * 

"  That's  right,  Annie,"  said  the  paralytic  woman ;  "  God 
send  us  a  green  Yule  and  a  fat  kirkyard ! " 

"  But  I  would  like  to  ken.  Lucky  Gourlay,  for  ye're  the  auldest 

*  Reginald  Scott  tells  of  an  old  woman  who  performed  so  many  cures 
by  m  Jis  of  a  charm,  that  she  was  suspected  of  witchcraft.  Her  mode  or 
pract:  e  being  inquired  into,  it  was  found,  that  the  only  fee  which  she 
woi'id  accept  of,  was  a  loaf  of  bread  an  .1  a  silver  penny;  and  that  the 
potent  charm  with  which  she  wrouglit  so  many  cures,  was  the  dogger  ] 
coupl  t  in  the  text.     [See  note   o  the  Antiquary.] 


THE   BRIDE    OF  LAMMERMOOR.  261 

and  wisest  among   us,  whilk  o'  these  revelers'  turns  it    will 
be  to  be  streekit  first  ?  " 

"  D'ye  see  yon  dandilly  maiden,"  said  Dame  Gourlay,  "  a 
glistening  wi'  gowd  and  jewels,  that  they  are  lifting  up  on  the 
white  horse  behind  that  harebrained  callant  in  scarlet,  wi'  the 
lang  sword  at  his  side  ?  " 

"  Eut  that's  the  bride  !  "  said  her  companion,  her  cold  heart 
touched  with  some  sort  of  compassion  ;  "that's  the  very  bride 
hersell !  Eh,  whow  !  sae  young,  sae  braw,  and  sae  bonny — and 
is  her  time  sae  short  ?  " 

"  I  tell  ye,"  said  the  sibyl,  "  her  winding  sheet  is  up  as  high 
as  her  throat  already,  believe  it  wha  list.  Her  sand  has  but  few 
grains  to  rin  out,  and  nae  wonder — they've  been  weel  shaken. 
The  leaves  are  withering  fast  on  the  trees,  but  she'll  never  see 
the  Martinmas  wind  gar  them  dance  in  swirls  like  the  fairy 
rings." 

"Ye  waited  on  her  for  a  quarter,"  said  the  paralytic  woman, 
"  and  got  twa  red  pieces,  or  I  am  far  beguiled." 

"Ay,  ay,"  answered  Ailsie,  with  a  bitter  grin;  "and  Sir 
William  Ashton  promised  me  a  bonny  red  gown  to  the  boot  o' 
that — a  stake,  and  a  chain,  and  a  tar  barrel,  lass  ! — what  think 
ye  o'  that  for  a  propine  ? — for  being  up  early  and  doun  late  for 
fourscore  nights  and  mair  wi'  his  dwining  daughter.  But  he 
may  keep  it  for  his  ain  leddy  cummers." 

"  I  hae  heard  a  sough,"  said  Annie  Winnie,  "  as  if  Leddy 
Ashton  was  nae  canny  body." 

"  D'ye  see  her  yonder,"  said  Dame  Gourlay,  "  as  she  prances 
on  her  gray  gelding  out  at  the  kirkyard  ? — there's  mair  o'  utter 
deevilry  in  that  woman,  as  brave  and  fair-fashioned  as  she  rides 
yonder,  than  in  a'  the  Scotch  witches  that  ever  flew  by  moon- 
light ower  North  Berwick  Law." 

"  What's  that  ye  say  about  witches,  ye  damned  hags  :  "  said 
Johnny  Mortsheugh ;  "  are  ye  casting  yer  cantrips  in  the  very 
kirkyard,  to  mischief  the  bride  and  bridegroom?  Get  awa 
hame,  for  if  I  tak  my  souple  t'ye,  I'll  gar  ye  find  the  road  faster 
than  ye  wad  like." 

"  Hech,  sirs  !  "  answered  Ailsle  Gourlay  :  "  how  braw  are  we 
wi'  our  new  black  coat  and  our  weel-pouthered  head,  as  if  we 
had  never  ken'd  hunger  nor  thirst  oursells  !  and  we'll  be  screw- 
ing up  our  bit  fiddle,  doubtless,  in  the  ha'  the  night,  amang 
a'  the  other  elbo'-jiggers  for  miles  round.  Let's  see  if  the  pins 
haud,  Johnny — that's  a'  lad." 

"  I  take  ye  a'  to  witness,  gude  people,"  said  Mortsheugh, 
**that  she  threatens  me  wi'  mischief,  and  forespeaks  me.  If  ony 
thing  but  gude  happens  to  me  or  my  fiddle  this  night,  I'll  make 


862  THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

it  the  blackest  night's  job  she  ever  stirred  in.  I'll  hae  her 
before  Presbytery  and  Synod — I'm  half  a  minister  mysell, 
now  that  I  am  a  bedral  in  an  inhabited  parish." 

Although  the  mutual  hatred  betwixt  these  hags  and  the  rest 
of  mankind  had  steeled  their  hearts  against  all  impressions  of 
festivity,  this  was  by  no  means  the  case  with  the  multitude  at 
.arge. — The  splendor  of  the  bridal  retinue — the  gay  dresses — 
the  spirited  horses — the  blithesome  appearance  of  the  handsome 
women  and  gallant  gentlemen  assembled  upon  the  occasion, 
had  the  usual  effect  upon  the  minds  of  the  populace.  The  re- 
peated shouts  of  "  Ashton  and  Bucklaw  forever  !  " — the  dis- 
charge of  pistols,  guns,  and  musketoons,  to  give  what  was  called 
the  bridal-shot,  evinced  the  interest  the  people  took  in  the 
occasion  of  the  cavalcade,  as  they  accompanied  it  upon  their 
return  to  the  castle.  If  there  was  here  and  there  an  elder 
peasant  or  his  wife  who  sneered  at  the  pomp  of  the  upstart 
family,  and  remembered  the  days  of  the  long-descended  Ravens- 
woods,  even  they,  attracted  by  the  plentiful  cheer  which  the 
castle  that  day  afforded  to  rich  and  poor,  held  their  way  thither, 
and  acknowledged,  notwithstanding  their  prejudices,  the  in- 
fluence of  r Amphit}'ion  oti  Pon  dine. 

Thus  accompanied  with  the  attendance  both  of  rich  and 
poor,  Lucy  returned  to  her  father's  house.  Bucklaw  used  his 
privilege  of  riding  next  to  the  bride,  but,  new  to  such  a  situation, 
rather  endeavored  to  attract  attention  by  the  display  of  his 
person  and  horsemanship,  than  by  any  attempt  to  address  her 
in  private.  They  reached  the  castle  in  safety,  amid  a  thousand 
joyous  acclamations. 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  weddings  of  ancient  days  were 
celebrated  with  a  festive  publicity  rejected  by  the  delicacy  of 
modern  times.  The  marriage  guests,  on  the  present  occasion, 
were  regaled  with  a  banquet  of  unbounded  profusion,  the  relics 
of  which,  after  the  domestics  had  feasted  in  their  turn,  were 
distributed  among  the  shouting  crowd,  with  as  many  barrels  of 
ale  as  made  the  hilarity  without  correspond  to  that  within  the 
castle.  The  gentlemen,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
indulged,  for  the  most  part,  in  deep  draughts  of  the  richest 
wines,  while  the  ladies,  prepared  for  the  ball  which  always 
closed  a  bridal  entertainment,  impatiently  expected  their  arrival 
in  the  state  gallery.  At  length  the  social  party  broke  up  at  a 
late  hour,  and  the  gentlemen  crowded  into  the  saloon,  where, 
enlivened  by  wine  and  the  joyful  occasion,  they  laid  aside  their 
swords,  and  handed  their  impatient  partners  to  the  floor.  The 
music  already  rung  from  the  gallery,  along  the  fretted  roof  of 
the  ancient  state  apartment.     According  to  strict  etiquette,  the 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOK.  263 

bride  ought  to  have  opened  the  ball,  but  Lady  Ashton,  making 
an  apology  on  account  of  her  daughter's  health,  offered  her 
own  hand  to  Bucklaw  as  substitute  for  her  daughter's. 

But  as  Lady  Ashton  raised  her  head  gracefully,  expecting 
the  strain  at  which  she  was  to  begin  the  dance,  she  was  so 
much  struck  by  an  unexpected  alteration  in  the  os'naments  of 
the  apartment,  that  she  was  surprised  into  an  exclamation. — 
"  Who  has  dared  to  change  the  pictures  ?  " 

All  looked  up,  and  those  who  knew  the  usual  state  of  the 
apartment  observed,  with  surprise,  that  the  picture  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Ashton's  father  was  removed  from  its  place,  and  in  its 
stead  that  of  old  Sir  Malise  Ravenswood  seemed  to  frown 
wrath  and  vengeance  upon  the  party  assembled  below.  The  ex- 
change must  have  been  made  while  the  apartments  were  empty, 
but  had  not  been  observed  until  the  torches  and  lights  in  the 
sconces  were  kindled  for  the  ball.  The  haughty  and  heated 
spirits  of  the  gentlemen  led  them  to  demand  an  immediate  in- 
quiry into  the  cause  of  what  they  deemed  an  affront  to  their 
host  and  to  themselves  ;  but  Lady  Ashton,  recovering  herself, 
passed  it  over  as  the  freak  of  a  crazy  wench  who  was  maintained 
about  the  castle,  and  whose  susceptible  imagination  had  been 
observed  to  be  much  affected  by  the  stories  which  Dame  Gour- 
lay  delighted  to  tell  concerning,  "  the  former  family,"  so  Lady 
Ashton  named  the  Ravenswoods.  The  obnoxious  picture  was 
immediately  removed,  and  the  ball  was  opened  by  Lady  Ashton, 
with  a  grace  and  dignity  which  supplied  the  charms  of  youth, 
and  almost  verified  the  extravagant  encomiums  of  the  elder  part 
of  the  compau}',  who  extolled  her  performance  as  far  exceed- 
ing the  dancing  of  the  rising  generation. 

When  Lady  Ashton  sat  down,  she  was  not  surprised  to  find 
that  her  daughter  had  left  the  apartment,  and  she  herself  fol- 
lowed, eager  to  obviate  any  impression  which  might  have  been 
made  upon  her  nerves  by  an  incident  so  likely  to  affect  them  as 
the  mysterious  transposition  of  the  portraits.  Apparently  she 
found  her  apprehensions  groundless,  for  she  returned  in  about 
an  hour,  and  whispered  the  bridegroom,  who  extricated  himself 
from  the  dancers,  and  vanished  from  the  apartment.  The  in- 
struments now  played  their  loudest  strains — the  dancers  pursued 
their  exercise  with  all  the  enthusiasm  inspired  by  youth,  mirth, 
and  high  spirits,  when  a  cry  was  heard  so  shrill  and  piercing, 
as  at  once  to  arrest  the  dance  and  the  music.  All  stood  motion- 
less ;  but  when  the  yell  was  again  repeated,  Colonel  Ashton 
snatched  a  torch  from  the  sconce,  and  demanding  the  key  of  the 
bridal  chamber  from  Henry,  to  whom,  as  bride's-man,  it  had 
been  intrusted,  rushed  thither,  followed  by  Sir  William  and 


264  T^F-  BRTDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

Lady  Ashton,  and  one  or  two  others,  near  relations  of  thfl 
famil3\  The  bridal  guests  waited  their  return  in  stupefied 
amazement. 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  apartment,  Colonel  Ashton 
knocked  and  called,  but  received  no  answer  except  stiflea 
groans.  He  hesitated  no  longer  to  open  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, in  which  he  found  opposition  from  something  which  lay 
against  it.  When  he  has  succeeded  in  opening  it,  the  body  of 
the  bridegroom  was  found  lying  on  the  threshold  of  the  bridal 
chamber,  and  all  around  was  flooded  with  blood.  A  cry  of 
surprise  and  horror  was  raised  by  all  present ;  and  the  company, 
excited  by  this  new  alarm,  began  to  rush  tumultuously  toward 
the  sleeping  apartment.  Colonel  Ashton,  first  whispering  to  his 
mother, — ''  Search  for  her — she  has  murdered  him  !  "  drew  his 
sword,  planted  himself  in  the  passage,  and  declared  he  would 
suffer  no  man  to  pass  excepting  the  clergyman,  and  a  medical 
person  present  By  their  assistance,  Bucklaw,  who  still  breathed, 
was  raised  from  the  ground,  and  transported  to  another  apart- 
ment, where  his  friends,  full  of  suspicion  and  murmuring,  as 
sembled  round  him  to  learn  the  opinion  of  the  surgeon. 

In  the  meanwhile.  Lady  Ashton,  her  husband,  and  their 
assistants,  in  vain  sought  Lucy  in  the  bridal  bed  and  in  the 
chamber.  There  was  no  private  passage  from  the  room,  and 
they  began  to  think  that  she  must  have  thrown  herself  from  the 
window,  when  one  of  the  company,  holding  his  torch  lower  than 
the  rest,  discovered  something  white  in  the  corner  of  the  great 
old  fashioned  chimney  of  the  apartment.  Here  they  found  the 
unfortunate  girl,  seated,  or  rather  couched  like  a  hare  upon  its 
form — her  head-gear  disheveled ;  her  night-clothes  torn  and 
dabbled  with  blood, — her  eyes  glazed,  and  her  features  con- 
vulsed into  a  wild  paroxysm  of  insanity.  When  she  saw  herself 
discovered,  she  gibbered,  made  mouths,  and  pointed  at  them 
with  her  bloody  fingers,  with  the  frantic  gestures  of  an  exulting 
demoniac. 

Female  assistance  was  now  hastily  summoned  ;  the  unhappy 
bride  was  overpowered,  not  without  the  use  of  some  force.  As 
they  carried  her  over  the  threshold,  she  looked  down,  and 
uttered  the  only  articulate  words  that  she  had  yet  spoken, 
saying  with  a  sort  of  grinning  exultation,  "  So,  you  have  ta'er 
up  your  bonny  bridegroom  ? "  She  was  by  the  shuddering 
assistants  conveyed  to  another  and  more  retired  apartment, 
where  she  was  secured  as  her  situation  required,  and  closely 
watched.  The  unutterable  agony  of  the  parents — the  horror 
and  confusion  of  all  who  were  in  the  castle — the  fury  of  cotv 
tending  passions  between  the  friends  of  the  different  parties 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  265 

passions  augmented  by  previous  intemperance,  surpass  de- 
scription. 

The  surgeon  was  the  first  one  to  obtain  something  like  a 
patient  hearing ;  he  pronounced  that  the  wound  of  Bucklaw, 
though  severe  and  dangerous,  was  by  no  means  fatal,  but  might 
readily  be  rendered  so  by  disturbance  and  hasty  removal.  This 
silenced  the  numerous  party  of  Bucklaw's  friends,  who  had 
previously  insisted  that  he  should,  at  all  rates,  be  transported 
from  the  castle  to  the  nearest  of  their  houses.  They  still 
demandi^d,  however,  that,  in  consideration  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, four  of  their  number  should  remain  to  watch  over  the 
sick-bed  of  their  friend,  and  that  a  suitable  number  of  their 
domestics,  well  armed,  should  also  remain  in  the  castle.  This 
condition  being  acceded  to  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Ashton  and 
his  father,  the  rest  of  the  bridegroom's  friends  left  the  castle, 
notwithstanding  the  hour  and  the  darkness  of  the  night.  The 
cares  of  the  medical  man  were  next  employed  in  behalf  of  Miss 
Ashton,  whom  he  pronounced  to  be  in  a  very  dangerous  state. 
Farther  medical  assistance  was  immediately  sumnioned.  All 
night  she  remained  delirious.  On  the  morning,  she  fell  into 
a  state  of  absolute  insensibility.  The  next  evening,  the  physi- 
cians said,  would  be  the  crisis  of  her  malady.  It  proved  so  ;  for 
although  she  awoke  from  her  trance  with  some  appearance  of 
calmness,  and  suffered  her  night-clothes  to  be  changed,  or  put 
in  order,  yet  so  soon  as  she  put  her  hand  to  her  neck,  as  if  to 
search  for  the  fatal  blue  ribbon,  a  tide  of  recollections  seemed 
to  rush  upon  her,  which  her  mind  and  body  were  alike  incapable 
of  bearing.  Convulsion  followed  convulsion,  till  they  closed  in 
death,  without  her  being  able  to  utter  a  word  explanatory  of 
the  ratal  scene. 

The  provincial  judge  of  the  district  arrived  the  day  after  the 
young  lady  had  expired,  and  executed,  though  with  all  possible 
delicacy  to  the  afiflicted  family,  the  painful  duty  of  inquiring 
into  this  fatal  transaction.  But  there  occurred  nothing  to  ex- 
plain the  general  hypothesis,  that  the  bride,  in  a  sudden  fit  of 
insanity,  had  stabbed  the  bridegroom  at  the  threshold  of  the 
apartment.  The  fatal  weapon  was  found  in  the  chamber, 
smeared  with  blood.  It  was  the  same  poniard  which  Henry 
should  have  worn  on  the  wedding-day,  and  which  his  unhappy 
sister  had  probably  contrived  to  secrete  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing, when  it  had  been  shown  to  her  among  other  articles  of 
preparation  for  the  wedding. 

The  friends  of  Bucklaw  expected  that  on  his  recovery  he 
would  throw  some  light  upon  this  dark  story,  and  eagerly 
pressed  him  with  inquiries,  which  for  some  time  he  evaded 


266  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

under  pretext  of  weakness.  When,  however,  he  had  been 
transported  to  his  own  house,  and  was  considered  as  in  a  state 
of  convalescence,  he  assembled  those  persons,  both  male  and 
female,  who  had  considered  themselves  as  entitled  to  press  him 
on  this  subject,  and  returned  them  thanks  for  the  interest  they 
had  exhibited  in  his  behalf,  and  their  ofifers  of  adherence  and 
support.  "  I  wish  you  all,"  he  said,  "  my  friends,  to  under- 
stand, however,  that  1  have  neither  story  to  tell,  nor  injuries  to 
avenge.  If  a  lady  shall  question  me  henceforward  upon  the 
incidents  of  that  unhappy  night,  I  shall  remain  silent,  and  in 
future  consider  her  as  one  who  has  shown  herself  desirous  to 
break  off  her  friendship  with  me  ;  in  a  word,  I  will  never  speak 
to  her  again.  But  if  a  gentleman  shall  ask  me  the  same  ques- 
tion, I  shall  regard  the  incivility  as  equivalent  to  an  invitation 
to  meet  him  in  the  Duke's  Walk,*  and  I  expect  that  he  will 
rule  himself  accordingly." 

A  declaration  so  decisive  admitted  no  commentary ;  and  it 
was  soon  after  seen  that  Bucklaw  had  arisen  from  the  bed  of 
sickness  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man  than  he  had  hitherto  shown 
himself.  He  dismissed  Craigengelt  from  his  society,  but  not 
without  such  provision  as,  if  well  employed,  might  secure  him 
against  indigence,  and  against  temptation. 

Bucklaw  afterward  went  abroad  and  never  returned  to 
Scotland  ;  nor  was  he  known  ever  to  hint  at  the  circumstances 
attending  his  fatal  marriage.  By  many  readers  this  may  be 
deemed  overstrained,  romantic,  and  composed  by  the  wild 
imagination  of  an  author,  desirous  of  gratifying  the  popular 
appetite  for  the  horrible  ;  but  those  who  are  read  in  the  private 
family  history  of  Scotland  during  the  period  in  which  the  scene 
is  laid,  will  readily  discover,  through  the  disguise  of  borrowed 
names  and  added  incidents,  the  leading  particulars  of  an  ower 

TRUE  TALE. 

*  A  walk  in  the  vicinity  of  Ilolyrood  House,  so  called,  because  often 
frequented  by  the  Duke  of  York,  afterward  Jaines  II.,  during  his  resi- 
dence in  Scotland,  It  was  for  a  long  time  the  usual  place  of  rendczYOUB 
for  settling  affairs  of  honoir. 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  267 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FOURTH. 

Whose  mind's  so  marbled,  and  his  heart  so  hard, 

That  would  not,  when  this  huge  mishap  was  heard, 

To  th'  utmost  note  of  sorrow  set  their  song. 

To  see  a  gallant  with  so  great  a  grace, 

So  suddenly  unthought  on,  so  o'erthrown. 

And  so  to  perish,  in  so  poor  a  place, 

By  too  rash  riding  in  a  ground  unknown  ! 

Poem,  in  Nisbet's  Heraldry,  Vol.  II. 

We  have  anticipated  the  course  of  time  to  mention  Bucklaw's 
recovery  and  fate,  that  we  might  not  interrupt  the  detail  of 
events  which  succeeded  the  funeral  of  the  unfortunate  Lucy 
Ashton.  This  melancholy  ceremony  was  performed  in  the 
misty  dawn  of  an  autumnal  morning,  with  such  moderate  at- 
tendance and  ceremony  as  could  not  possibly  be  dispensed  with. 
A  very  few  of  the  nearest  relations  attended  her  body  to  the 
same  churchyard  to  which  she  had  lately  been  led  as  a  bride, 
with  as  little  free  will,  perhaps,  as  could  be  now  testified  by 
her  lifeless  and  passive  remains.  An  aisle  adjacent  to  the 
church  had  been  fitted  up  by  Sir  William  Ashton  as  a  family 
cemetery  ;  and  here,  in  a  coffin  bearing  neither  name  nor  date, 
were  consigned  to  dust  the  remains  of  what  was  once  lovely, 
beautiful,  and  innocent,  though  exasperated  to  frenzy  by  a  long 
tract  of  unremitting  persecution.  While  the  mourners  were 
busy  in  the  vault,  the  three  village  hags,  who,  notwithstanding 
the  unwonted  earliness  of  the  hour,  had  snuffed  the  carrion  like 
vultures,  were  seated  on  the  "  through-stane,"  and  engaged  ia 
their  wonted  unhallowed  conference. 

"  Did  not  I  say,"  said  Dame  Gourlay,  "that  the  braw  bridal 
would  be  followed  by  as  braw  a  funeral  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  answered  Dame  Winnie,  "  there's  little  bravery 
at  it;  neither  meat  nor  drink,  and  just  a  wheen  silver  tippences 
to  the  poor  folk  ;  it  was  little  worth  while  to  come  sae  far  road 
for  sae  sma'  profit,  and  us  sae  frail." 

"Out,  wretch  !  "  replied  Dame  Gourlay,  "can  a'  the  dainties 
they  could  gie  us  be  half  sae  sweet  as  this  hour's  vengeance  ? 
There  they  are  that  were  capering  on  their  prancing  nags  four 
days  since,  and  they  are  now  ganging  as  dreigh  and  sober  a.s 
oursells  the  day.  They  were  a'  glistening  wi'  gowd  and  silver 
— they're  now  as  black  as  the  crook.     And  Miss  Lucy  Ashton, 


;j<58  1'ff£  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOk, 

that  grudged  when  an  honest  woman  came  near  her,  a  tald  may 
sit  on  her  cofhn  the  day,  and  she  can  never  scunner  when  he 
croaks.  And  Lady  Ashton  has  hell-fire  burning  in  her  breast 
by  this  time  ;  and  Sir  William,  wi'  his  gibbets,  and  his  faggots, 
and  his  chains,  how  likes  he  the  witcheries  of  his  ain  dwelling- 
house  ?  " 

"And  is  it  true,  then,"  murmured  the  paralytic  wretch,  "  that 
the  bride  was  trailed  out  of  her  bed  and  up  the  chimley  by  evil 
spirits,  and  that  the  bridegroom's  face  was  wrung  round  ahint 
him  ? " 

"  Ye  needna  care  wha  did  it,  or  how  it  was  done,"  said  Ailsie 
Gourlay;  "but  I'll  uphaud  it  for  nae  stickit*  job,  and  that  the 
lairds  and  leddies  ken  weel  this  day." 

"And  was  it  true,"  said  Annie  Winnie,  "sin  ye  ken  sae 
muckle  about  it,  that  the  picture  of  Auld  Sir  Malise  Ravens- 
wood  came  down  on  the  ha'  floor  and  led  out  the  brawl  before 
them  a'  ? " 

"  Na,"  said  Ailsie  ;  "  but  into  the  ha'  came  the  picture — and 
T  ken  weel  how  it  came  there — to  gie  them  a  warning  that  pride 
would  get  a  fa'.  But  there's  as  queer  a  ploy,  cummers,  as  ony 
o'  thae,  that's  gaun  on  even  now  in  the  burial  vault  yonder — ye 
saw  twall  mourners,  wi'  crape  and  cloak,  gang  down  the  steps 
pair  and  pair  ?  " 

"  What  should  ail  us  to  see  them  ?  "  said  the  one  old  woman. 

"  I  counted  them,"  said  the  other,  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
person  to  whom  the  spectacle  had  afforded  too  much  interest  to 
be  viewed  with  indifference. 

"  But  ye  did  not  see,"  said  Ailsie,  exulting  in  her  superior 
observation,  "  that  there's  a  thirteenth  amang  them  that  they 
ken  naething  about ;  and,  if  auld  freits  say  true,  there's  ane  o' 
that  company  that'll  no  be  lang  for  this  warld.  But  come  awa, 
cummers  ;  if  we  bide  here,  I'se  warrant  we  get  the  wyte  o'  what- 
ever ill  comes  of  it,  and  that  gude  will  come  of  it  nane  o'  them 
need  ever  think  to  see." 

And  thus,  croaking  like  the  ravens  when  they  anticipate 
pestilence,  the  ill-boding  sibyls  withdrew  from  the  churchyard. 

In  fact,  the  mourners,  when  the  service  of  interment  was 
ended,  discovered  that  there  was  among  them  one  more  than 
the  invited  number,  and  the  remark  was  communicated  in  whis- 
pers to  each  other.  The  suspicion  fell  upon  a  figure,  which, 
muffled  in  the  same  deep  mourning  with  the  others,  was  reclined, 
almost  in  a  s^ate  of  insensibility,  against  one  of  the  pillars  of 
the  sepulchral  vault.  The  relatives  of  the  Ashton  family  were 
expressing  in  whispers  their  surprise  and  displeasure  at  the  iiv 
*  Stickit,  imperfect 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR.  269 

trusion,  when  they  were  interrupted  by  Colonel  Ashton,  who,  in 
his  father's  absence,  acted  as  principal  mourner.  "  I  know," 
he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  who  this  person  is  ;  he  lias,  or  shall  soon 
have,  as  deep  cause  of  mourning  as  ourselves — leave  me  to  deaj 
with  him,  and  do  not  disturb  the  ceremony  by  unnecessary  ex- 
posure." So  saving,  he  separated  himself  from  the  group  of 
his  relations,  and  taking  the  unknown  mourner  by  the  cloak,  he 
said  to  him,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  emotion,  "  Follow  me." 

The  stranger,  as  if  starting  from  a  trance  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  mechanically  obeyed,  and  they  ascended  the  broken 
ruinous  stair  which  led  from  the  sepulchre  into  the  churchyard. 
The  other  mourners  followed,  but  remained  grouped  together 
at  the  door  of  the  vault,  watching  with  anxiety  the  motions 
of  Colonel  Ashton  and  the  stranger,  who  now  appeared  to  be 
in  close  conference  beneath  the  shade  of  a  yew-tree,  in  the  most 
remote  part  of  the  burial-ground. 

To  this  sequestered  spot  Colonel  Ashton  had  guided  the 
stranger,  and  then  turning  round,  addressed  him  in  a  stern  and 
composed  tone — "  I  cannot  doubt  that  I  speak  to  the  Master 
of  Ravenswood  ?  "  No  answer  was  returned.  "  I  cannot  doubt," 
resumed  the  Colonel,  trembling  with  rising  passion,  "that  I 
speak  to  the  murderer  of  my  sister } " 

"  You  have  named  me  but  too  truly,"  said  Ravenswood,  in 
a  hollow  and  tremulous  voice. 

"If  you  repent  what  you  have  done,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  may  your  penitence  avail  you  before  God  ;  with  me  it  shai| 
serve  you  nothing.  "  Here,"  he  said,  giving  a  paper,  "  is  the 
measure  of  my  sword,  and  a  memorandum  of  the  time  and 
place  of  meeting.  Sun-rise  to-morrow-morning,  on  the  links  to 
the  east  of  Wolf's  Hope." 

The  Master  of  Ravenswood  held  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and 
seemed  irresolute.  At  length  he  spoke — "  Do  not,"  he  said;, 
"  urge  to  further  desperation  a  wretch  who  is  already  desperate. 
Enjoy  your  life  when  you  can,  and  let  me  seek  my  death  from 
another." 

"  That  you  never,  never  shall ! "  said  Douglas  Ashton. 
"You  shall  die  by  my  hand,  or  you  shall  complete  the  ruin  of 
my  family  by  taking  my  life.  If  you  refuse  my  open  challenge, 
there  is  no  advantage  I  will  not  take  of  you,  no  indignity  with 
which  I  will  not  load  you,  until  the  very  name  of  Ravenswood 
shall  be  the  sign  of  everything  that  is  dishonorable,  as  it  is  al- 
ready of  all  that  is  villanous." 

"  That  It  shall  never  be,"  said  Ravenswood,  fiercely  ;  "  if  I 
am  the  last  who  must  bear  it,  I  owe  it  to  those  who  once  owned 
it,  that  the  name  shall  be  extinguished  without  infamy.    I  accept 


270 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


your  challenge,  time,  and  place  of  meeting.     We  meet,  f  pre 
sume,  alone  ?  " 

"Alone  we  meet,"  said  Colonel  Ashton,  "  and  alone  will  tha 
survivor  of  us  return  from  that  place  of  rendezvous." 

"  Then  God  have  mercy  on  the  soul  of  him  who  falls  !  " 
said  Ravenswood. 

"  So  be  it !  "  said  Colonel  Ashton  ;  "  so  far  can  my  charity 
reach  even  for  the  man  I  hate  most  deadly,  and  with  the  decjv 
est  reason.  Now,  break  off,  for  we  shall  be  interrupted.  The 
links  by  the  sea-shore  to  the  east  of  Wolf's  Hope — the  hour, 
sunrise — our  swords  our  only  weapons." 

"  Enough,"  said  the  Master  ;  "I  will  not  fail  you." 

They  separated ;  Colonel  Ashton  joining  the  rest  of  the 
mourners,  and  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  taking  his  horse, 
which  was  tied  to  a  tree  behind  the  church.  Colonel  Ashton 
returned  to  the  Castle  with  the  funeral  guests,  but  found  a 
pretext  for  detaching  himself  from  them  in  the  evening,  when, 
changing  his  dress  to  a  riding  habit,  he  rode  to  Wolf's  Hope 
that  night,  and  took  up  his  abode  in  the  little  inn,  in  order  that 
he  might  be  ready  for  his  rendezvous  in  the  morning. 

It  is  not  known  how  the  Master  of  Ravenswood  disposed  of 
the  rest  of  that  unhappy  day.  Late  at  night,  however,  he  arrived 
at  Wolf's  Crag,  and  aroused  his  old  domestic,  Caleb  Balder- 
ston,  who  had  ceased  to  expect  his  return.  Confused  and  flying 
rumors  of  the  late  tragical  death  of  Miss  Ashton,  and  of  its 
mysterious  cause,  had  already  reached  the  old  man,  who  was 
filled  with  the  utmost  anxiety,  on  account  of  the  probable  effect 
these  events  might  produce  upon  the  mind  of  his  master. 

The  conduct  of  Ravenswood  did  not  alleviate  his  appre- 
hensions. To  the  butler's  trembling  entreaties,  that  he  would 
take  some  refreshment,  he  at  first  returned  no  answer,  and  then 
suddenly  and  fiercely  demanding  wine,  he  drank,  contrary  to 
his  habits,  a  very  large  draught.  Seeing  that  his  master  would 
eat  nothing,  the  old  man  affectionately  entreated  that  he  would 
permit  him  to  light  him  to  his  chamber.  It  was  not  until  the 
request  was  three  or  four  times  repeated,  that  Ravenswood  made 
a  mute  sign  of  compliance.  But  when  Balderston  conducted 
him  to  an  apartment  which  had  been  comfortably  fitted  up, 
and  which,  since  his  return  he  had  usually  occupied,  Ravens- 
wood stopped  short  on  the  threshold. 

"  Not  here,"  said  he,  sternly ;  "  show  me  the  room  in  which 
my  father  died ;  the  room  in  which  she  slept  the  night  they  were 
at  the  castle." 

"  Who,  sir  ? '  said  Caleb,  too  terrified  to  preserve  his  pres 
ence  of  mind. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


271 


"  She,  Lucy  Ashton  ! — would  you  kill  me,  old  man,  by  forc- 
ing me  to  repeat  her  name  ?  " 

Caleb  would  have  said  something  of  the  disrepair  of  the 
chamber,  but  was  silenced  by  the  irritable  impatience  which 
was  expressed  in  his  master's  countenance  ;  he  lighted  the  way 
trembling  and  in  silence,  placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  of  the 
deserted  room,  and  was  about  to  attempt  some  arrangement  of 
the  bed,  when  his  master  bid  him  begone  in  a  tone  that  ad- 
mitted of  no  delay.  The  old  man  retired,  not  to  rest,  but  to 
prayer :  and  from  time  to  time  crept  to  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, in  order  to  find  out  whether  Ravenswood  had  gone  to 
repose.  His  measured  heavy  step  upon  the  floor  was  only  in- 
terrupted by  deep  groans  ;  and  the  repeated  stamps  of  the  heel 
of  his  heavy  boot,  intimated  too  clearly,  that  the  wretched  in- 
mate was  abandoning  himself  at  such  moments  to  paroxysms 
of  uncontroled  agony.  The  old  man  thought  that  the  morn, 
ing  for  which  he  longed  would  never  have  dawned ;  but  time, 
whose  course  rolls  on  with  equal  current,  however  it  may  seem 
more  rapid  or  more  slow  to  mortal  apprehension,  brought  the 
dawn  at  last,  and  spread  a  ruddy  light  on  the  broad  verge  of  the 
glistening  ocean.  It  was  early  in  November,  and  the  weather 
was  serene  for  the  season  of  the  year.  But  an  easterly  wind 
had  prevailed  during  the  night,  and  the  advancing  tide  rolled 
nearer  than  usual  to  the  foot  of  the  crags  on  which  the  castle 
was  founded. 

With  the  first  peep  of  light,  Caleb  Balderston  again  resorted 
to  the  door  of  Ravenswood's  sleeping  apartment,  through  a 
chink  of  which  he  observed  him  engaged  in  measuring  the  length 
of  two  or  three  swords  which  lay  in  a  closet  adjoining  to  the 
apartment.  He  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  selected  one  of  these 
weapons,  "  It  is  shorter — let  him  have  this  advantage,  as  he  has 
every  other." 

Caleb  Balderston  knew  too  well,  from  what  he  had  witnessed, 
upon  what  enterprise  his  master  was  bound,  and  how  vain  an 
interference  on  his  part  must  necessarily  prove.  He  had  but 
time  to  retreat  from  the  door,  so  nearly  was  he  surprised  by  his 
master  suddenly  coming  out  and  descending  to  the  stables. 
The  faithful  domestic  followed  ;  and,  from  the  disheveled  ap- 
pearance of  his  master's  dress,  and  his  ghastly  looks,  was  con- 
firmed in  his  conjecture  that  he  had  passed  the  night  without 
sleep  or  repose.  He  found  him  busily  engaged  in  saddling  his 
horse,  a  service  from  which  Caleb,  though  with  faltering  voice 
and  trembling  hands,  offered  to  relieve  him.  Ravenswood  re- 
jected his  assistance  by  a  mute  sign,  and  having  led  the  animal 
into  the  court,  and  was  just  about  to  mount  him  when  the  old 


272 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


domestic's  fear  giving  way  to  the  strong  attachment  which  wag 
the  principal  passion  of  his  mind,  he  flung  himself  suddenly  at 
Ravenswood's  feet,  and  clasped  his  knees,  while  he  exclaimed  : 
"  Oh,  sir  !  Oh,  master  !  kill  me  if  you  will,  but  do  not  go  out  on 
this   dreadful    errand !     Oh  !    my  dear  master,   wait  but   this 

day — the   Marquis  of  A comes  to-morrow,  and  a'  will  be 

remedied  ! " 

"  You  have  no  longer  a  master,  Caleb,"  said  Ravenswood 
endeavoring  to  extricate  himself ,  "  why,  old  man,  would  you 
cling  to  a  falling  tower  ?  " 

"  But  I  have  a  master,"  cried  Caleb,  still  holding  him  fast, 
"while  the  heir  of  Ravenswood  breathes.  I  am  but  a  servant; 
but  I  was  born  your  father's — your  grandfather's  servant — I 
was  born  for  the  family — I  have  lived  for  them — I  would  die 
for  them   ! — Stay  but  at  home,  and  all  will  be  well ! " 

"  Well,  fool !  Well  !  "  said  Ravenswood  ;  "  vain  old  man, 
nothing  hereafter  in  life  will  be  well  with  me,  and  happiest  is 
the  hour  that  shall  soonest  close  it !  " 

So  saying,  he  extricated  himself  from  the  old  man's  hold, 
threw  himself  on  his  horse,  and  rode  out  at  the  gate  ;  but  in- 
stantly turning  back,  he  threw  toward  Caleb,  who  hastened  to 
meet  him,  a  heavy  purse  of  gold, 

"Caleb  !  "  he  said,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "  I  make  you  my 
executor  ;"  and  again  turning  his  bridle,  he  resumed  his  course 
down  the  hill. 

The  gold  fell  unheeded  on  the  pavement,  for  the  old  man 
ran  to  observe  the  course  which  was  taken  by  his  master,  who 
turned  to  the  left  down  a  small  and  broken  path,  which  gained 
the  sea-shore  through  a  cleft  in  the  rock,  and  led  to  a  sort  of 
cove,  where,  in  former  times,  the  boats  of  the  castle  were  wont 
to  be  moored.  Observing  him  take  this  course,  Caleb  hastened 
to  the  eastern  battlement,  which  commanded  the  prospect  of 
the  whole  sands,  ver)-  near  as  far  as  the  village  of  Wolf's  Hope 
He  could  easily  see  his  master  riding  in  that  direction,  as  fast 
as  the  horse  could  carry  him.  The  prophecy  at  once  rushed 
on  Balderston's  mind,  that  the  Lord  of  Ravenswood  should  perish 
on  the  Kelpie's  Flow,  which  lay  half-way  betwixt  the  tower  and 
the  links,  or  sand  knolls,  to  the  northward  of  Wolf's  Hope.  He 
saw  him  accordingly  reach  the  fatal  spot,  but  he  never  saw  him 
pass  further. 

Colonel  Ashton,  frantic  for  revenge,  was  already  in  the  field, 
pacing  the  turf  with  eagerness,  and  looking  with  impatience  to- 
ward the  tower  for  the  arrival  of  his  antagonist.  The  sun  had 
now  risen,  and  showed  its  broad  disk  above  the  eastern  sea,  so 
that  he  could  easily  discern  the  horseman  who  rode  toward 


THE  BRIDE   OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


273 


him  with  speed  which  argued  impatience  equal  to  his  own.  At 
once  the  figure  became  invisible,  as  if  it  had  melted  into  the 
air.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had  witnessed  an  apparition, 
and  then  hastened  to  the  spot,  near  which  he  was  met  by  Bal- 
derston,  who  came  from  the  opposite  direction.  No  trace  what- 
ever of  horse  or  rider  could  be  discerned  ;  it  only  appeared, 
that  the  late  winds  and  high  tides  had  greatly  extended  the 
usual  bounds  of  the  quicksand,  and  that  the  unfortunate  horse- 
man, as  appeared  from  the  hoof-tracks,  in  his  precipitate  haste, 
had  not  attended  to  keep  on  the  firm  sands  on  the  foot  of  the 
rock,  but  had  taken  the  shortest  and  most  dangerous  course. 
One  only  vestige  of  his  fate  appeared.  A  large  sable  feather 
had  been  detached  from  his  hat,  and  the  rippling  waves  of  the 
rising  tide  v/afted  it  to  Caleb's  feet. 

The  old  man  took  it  up,  dried  it,  and  placed  it  in  his  bosom. 

The  inhabitants  of  Wolf's  Hope  were  now  alarmed,  and 
crowded  to  the  place,  some  on  shore,  and  some  in  boats,  but 
the  search  availed  nothing.  The  tenacious  depths  of  the  quick- 
sand, as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  retained  its  prey. 

Our  tale  draws  to   a  conclusion.     The   Marquis  of  A , 

alarmed  at  the  frightful  reports  that  were  current,  and  anxious 
for  his  kinsman's  safety,  arrived  on  the  subsequent  day  to  mourn 
his  loss  ;  and,  after  renewing  in  vain  a  search  for  the  body, 
returned  to  forget  what  had  happened  amid  the  bustle  of  politics 
and  state  affairs. 

Not  so  Caleb  Balderston.     If  worldly  profit  could  have  con- 
soled  the   old  man,  his  age  was  better  provided  for  than  his 
earlier  life  had  ever  been  ;  but  life  had  lost  to  him  its  salt  and 
its  savor.     His  whole  course  of  ideas,  his  feelings,  whether  of 
pride  or  of  apprehension,  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  had  all  arisen 
from  his  close  connection   with  the  family  which  was  now  ex- 
tinguished.    He  held  up  his  head  no  longer — forsook  all  his 
usual  haunts  and  occupations,  and  seemed  only  to  find  pleasure 
in  moping  about  those  apartments  in  the  old  castle,  which  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood   had  last  inhabited.     He  ate   without  , 
refreshment,  and  slumbered  without  repose  ;  and,  with  a  fidel-^^y^^jr^ 
ity  sometimes  displayed  by  the   canine    race,  but  seldom  by         ' 
human  beings,  he  pined  and  died  within  a  year  after  the  catas-  , 
trophe  which  we  have  narrated. 

The  family  of  Ashton  did  not  long  survive  that  of  Ravens- 
wood.     Sir  William  Ashton  outlived  his  eldest  son,  the  Colonel,        tj^     (ji 
who  was  slain  in  a  duel  in  Flanders  ;  and  Henry,  by  whom  he       'Vt****^ 
was   succeeded,   died   unmarried.     Lady  Ashton   lived   to  the 
verge  of  extreme  old  age,  the  only  survivor  of  the  group  of 
unhappy  persons  whose   misfortunes  were  owing  to  her  im- 


274 


THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


placability.  That  she  might  internally  feel  compunction,  and 
reconcile  herself  with  Heaven  whom  she  had  offended,  we  will 
not,  and  we  dare  not,  deny  ;  but  to  those  around  her,  she  did 
not  evince  the  slightest  symptom  either  of  repentance  or 
remorse.  In  all  external  appearance,  she  bore  the  same  bold, 
haughty,  unbending  character,  which  she  had  displayed  before 
these  unhappy  events.  A  splendid  marble  monument  records 
her  name,  titles,  and  virtues,  while  her  victims  remain  undistin- 
guished by  tomb  or  epitaph. 


NOTES 

TO  THE   BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


Note  A,  p.  i.— The  Family  of  Stair. 

[It  may  be  regretted  that  the  Author  had  not  adhered  to  his  original 
purpose  as  here  stated.  In  his  Introduction  to  the  Chronicles  of  the  Canon- 
gate  {vide  vol.  xix. ),  when  referring  to  the  sources  or  materials  of  his 
novels,  he  says,  "  I  may  mention,  for  example's  sake,  that  the  terrible 
catastrophe  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor  actually  occurred  in  a  Scottish 
family  of  rank.  ...  It  is  unnecessary  further  to  withdraw  the  real  veil 
from  this  scene  of  family  distress,  nor,  although  it  occurred  more  than  a 
hundred  years  since,  might  it  be  altogether  agreeable  to  the  representatives 
of  the  families  concerned  in  the  narrative.  It  may  be  proper  to  say,  that 
the  events  are  imitated;  h\x1  I  had  neither  the  means  nor  intcntio)i  of  copy- 
ing the  manners,  or  tracing  the  characters,  of  the  persons  concerned  in  the  real 
story." 

The  regret,  however,  is  not  in  his  stating  that  the  tragical  event  said  to 
have  happened  in  the  family  of  Dalrymple  of  Stair  in  1669  had  suggested 
the  catastrophe,  but  in  seemmgly  connecting  the  story  itself  with  the  history 
of  that  family,  by  quoting  so  fully  the  scandal  and  satirical  verses  of  a  later 
period.] 

Note  B,  p.  10. — Author's  Illness  and  Dictation  of  the  Noveu 

From  Lockhart's  Memoirs  of  Scott. 

["  Ballantyne  informed  me  that  Sir  Walter  was  so  much  recovered  as  to 
have  resumed  his  usual  literary  tasks,  though  with  this  difference,  that  he 
now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  found  it  necessary  to  employ  the  hand  of 
another.  The  manuscript  which  Scott  was  thus  dictating,  was  that  of  the 
Bride  of  Lammermoor,  and  his  amanuenses  were  William  Laidlaw  and  John 
Ballantyne; — of  whom  he  preferred  the  latter,  when  he  could  be  at  Abbots- 
ford,  on  account  of  the  superior  rapidity  of  his  pen  ;  and  also  because  John 
Icept  his  pen  to  the  paper  without  interru]5tion,  and,  though  with  many  an 
arch  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  now  and  then  an  audible  smack  of  his  lips,  had 
resolution  to  work  on  like  a  well-trained  clerk  ;  whereas  good  Laidlaw  en- 
tered with  such  keen  zest  into  the  interest  of  the  story  as  it  flowed  from  the 
author's  lips,  that  he  could  not  suppress  exclamations  of  surprise  and 
delight — '  Gude  keep  us  a'  !— the  like  o'  that ! — eh  sirs  !  eh  sirs  ! ' — and  so 
forth — which  did  not  promote  despatch. 

"  I  have  often,  however,  in  the  sequel,  heard  both  the.se  secretaries  dc' 
scribe  the  astonishment  with  which  they  were  equally  affected  when  Scolt 


276         1^0 TES  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

began  this  experiment.  The  affectionate  Laidlaw  beseeching  him  to  stop 
dictating  when  his  audible  suffering  filled  every  pause,  '  Nay,  Willie,'  he 
answered,  'only  see  that  the  doors  are  fast.  I  would  fain  keep  all  the  cry 
as  well  as  all  the  wool  to  ourselves;  but  as  to  giving  over  work,  that  can 
only  be  when  I  am  in  woollen.'  John  Ballantyne  told  me,  that  after  the 
first  day,  he  always  took  care  to  have  a  dozen  of  pens  made  before  he  seated 
himself  opposite  to  the  sofa  on  which  Scott  lay,  and  that  though  he  often 
turned  himself  on  his  pillow  with  a  groan  of  torment,  he  usually  continued 
the  sentence  in  the  same  breath.  But  when  dialogue  of  peculiar  animation 
was  in  progress,  spirit  seemed  to  triumph  altogether  over  matter — he  arose 
from  his  couch  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  raising  and  lowering  his 
voice,  and  as  it  were  acting  the  parts.  It  was  in  this  fashion  that  Scott  pro- 
duced the  far  greater  portion  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor." 

J.  G.  LOCKHART.] 

Note  C,  p.  23. — Sir  George  Lockhart. 

President  of  the  Court  of  Session.  He  was  pistolled  in  the  High  Street 
of  Edinburgh,  by  John  Chiesley  of  Dairy  in  the  year  1689,  The  revenge  of 
this  desperate  man  was  stimulated  by  an  opinion  that  he  had  sustained  in- 
justice in  a  decreet-arbitral  pronounced  by  the  President,  assigning  an  ali- 
mentary provision  of  about  ^93  in  favor  of  his  wife  and  children.  He  is 
said  at  first  to  have  designed  to  shoot  the  judge  while  attending  upon  divine 
worship,  but  was  diverted  by  some  feeling  concerning  the  sanctity  of  the 
place.  After  the  congregation  was  dismissed,  he  dogged  his  victim  as  far 
as  the  head  of  the  close  on  the  south  side  of  the  Lawnmarket,  in  which  the 
President's  house  was  situated,  and  shot  him  dead  as  he  was  about  to  enter 
it.  This  act  was  done  in  the  presence  of  numerous  spectators.  The  assas- 
sin made  no  attempt  to  flv,  but  boasted  of  the  deed,  saying,  "  I  have  taught 
the  President  how  to  do  justice."  He  had  at  least  given  him  fair  warning, 
as  Jack  Cade  says  on  a  similar  occasion.  The  murderer,  after  undertroing 
the  torture,  by  a  special  act  of  the  Estates  of  Parliament,  was  tried  before 
the  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh,  as  high  sheriff,  and  condemned  to  be 
dragged  on  a  hurdle  to  the  place  of  execution,  to  have  his  right  hand  struck 
off  while  he  yet  lived,  and  finally,  to  be  hung  on  the  gallows  with  the  pistol 
wherewith  he  shot  the  President  tied  round  his  neck.  This  execution  took 
place  on  the  3d  of  April,  1689;  and  the  incident  was  long  remembered  as  a 
dreadful  instance  of  what  the  law  books  call  the  perfervidum.  ingenium 
Scotoriim. 


Note  D,  p.  62. — The  Ballantynes. 

[James  Ballantyne,  the  eminent  printer,  was  the  eldest  of  three  sons  of 
a  small  merchant  in  Kelso.  He  was  born  in  1772,  and  became  acquainted 
with  Sir  Walter  Scott  so  early  as  1784,  when  attending  the  Grammar 
School.  Having  established  a  printing-office,  he  started  a  local  news- 
paper, called  the"  Kdso  Mail:  and  in  1799.  there  issued  from  his  press, 
Scott's  Apolor;y  for  Tales  of  Terror,  of  which  only  12  copies  were  thrown 
off.  This  was  followed  bv  the  first  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  in  1802,  a  work  that  was  considered  such  an  admirable  specimen 
of  tvpography,  that  Ballantyne  was  induced  to  remove  to  Edinburgh, 
where  for  thirty  years  he  carried  on  a  printing  establishment  with  great  suoi 
cess,  leaving  his  younger  brother,  Alexander,  at  Kelso  to  look  after  the 
IJfewspaper, 


itOTES  TO  THE  BKIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.  277 

John  Ballantyne,  the  second  son,  was  born  in  1774.  He  commenced  hii 
career  at  Kelso,  in  September  18 1 3,  by  the  sale  of  that  portion  of  the  cele- 
brated library  of  John  Duke  of  Roxburghe  which  remained  at  Fleiirs  Castle. 
On  coming  to  Edinburgh  he  was  for  a  time  connected  with  the  printing 
office  ;  but  afterward  turned  auctioneer  and  bookseller,  and  became  the 
publisher  of  several  of  Scott's  Poems  and  Novels.  "Jocund  Johnny,"  as 
Scott  sometimes  called  him,  was  a  person  of  a  volatile  and  joyous  disposi- 
tion, a  most  amusing  companion,  having  the  credit  of  being  the  best  story- 
teller of  his  time.  The  state  of  his  health,  however,  obliged  him  to  relin- 
quish business,  and  he  died  i6th  June,  1821. 

James,  who  devoted  much  of  his  time  to  theatrical  criticism  and  journal- 
ism, died  within  four  months  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  January  1833.  He 
assisted  the  author  of  these  novels  in  revising  the  proof  sheets,  and  suggest- 
ing minute  corrections.] 

Note  E,  p.  142. — The  Raid  of  Caleb  Balderston. 

The  raid  of  Caleb  Balderston  on  the  cooper's  kitchen  has  been  uni- 
versally considered  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Tweed  as  grotesquely  and 
absurdly  extravagant.  The  Author  can  only  say,  that  a  similar  anecdote 
was  communicated  to  him,  with  date  and  names  of  the  parties,  by  a  noble 
Earl,  lately  deceased,  whose  remembrances  of  former  days,  both  in  Scot- 
land and  England,  while  they  were  given  with  a  felicity  and  power  of  humor 
never  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  his  lord- 
ship in  familiar  society,  were  especially  invaluable  from  their  extreme 
accuracy. 

Speaking  after  my  kind  and  lamented  informer,  with  the  omission  of 
names  only,  the  anecdote  ran  thus  : — There  was  a  certain  bachelor  gentle- 
man in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  Scotland,  second  son  of  an  ancient 
family,  who  lived  on  the  fortune  of  a  second  .son — videlicet,  upon  some 
miserable  small  annuity,  which  yet  was  so  managed  and  stretched  out  by 
the  expedients  of  his  man  John,  that  his  master  kept  the  front  rank  with  all 
the  young  men  of  quality  in  the  county,  and  hunted,  dined,  diced  and  drank 
with  them,  upon  apparently  equal  terms. 

It  is  true,  that  as  the  master's  society  was  extremely  amusing,  his  friends 
contrived  to  reconcile  his  man  John  to  accept  assistance  of  various  kinds 
under  the  rose,  which  they  dared  not  to  have  directly  offered  to  his  master. 
Yet,  very  consistently  with  all  this  good  uiclination  to  John,  nnd  John's 
master,  it  was  thought  among  the  young  fox-hunters,  that  it  Avould  be  an 
excellent  jest,  if  possible,  to  take  John  at  fault. 

With  this  intention,  and,  I  think,  in  consequence  of  a  bet,  a  party  of 
four  or  five  of  these  youngsters  arrived  at  the  bachelor's  little  mansion, 
which  was  adjacent  tn  a  considerable  village.  Here  they  alighted  a  short 
while  before  the  dinner-hotn- — for  it  was  judged  regular  to  give  John's  in- 
genuity a  fair  start — and,  rushing  past  the  astonished  domestic,  entered  the 
little  parlor ;  and,  telling  some  concerted  story  of  the  cause  of  their  in- 
vasion, the  self-invited  guests  asked  their  landlord  if  he  could  let  them  have 
some  dinner.  Their  friend  gave  them  a  hearty  and  unembarrassed  re- 
ception, and,  for  the  matter  of  dinner,  referred  them  to  John.  He  was 
summoned  accordingly — received  his  master's  orders  to  get  dinner  ready 
for  the  party  who  had  thus  unexpectedlv  arrived  :  and,  without  changing  a 
muscle  of  his  countenance,  promised  prompt  obedience.  Great  was  the 
speculation  of  the  visitors,  and  probably  of  the  landlord  also,  what  was  to 
be  the  issue  of  John's  fair  promises.  Some  of  the  more  curious  had  taken 
a  peep  into  the  kitchen,  and  could  see  nothing  there  to  realize  the  prospect 


278  NOTES  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 

held  out  by  tlie  Major-Domo.  But  punctual  as  the  dinner-hour  struck  on 
the  village  clock,  John  placed  before  them  a  stately  rump  of  boiled  beef, 
with  a  proper  accompaniment  of  greens,  amply  suflicient  to  dine  the  whole 
party,  and  to  decide  the  bet  against  those  among  the  visitors  who  expected 
to  take  John  napping.  The  explanation  was  the  same  as  in  the  ca;  e  of 
Calcl)  Balderston.  John  had  used  the  freedom  to  carry  off  the  kail-pot  of 
a  rich  old  chuff  in  the  village,  and  brought  it  to  his  master's  house,  leaving 
the  proprietor  and  his  friends  to  dine  on  bread  and  cheese;  and  as  John 
said,  "  good  enough  for  them."  The  fear  of  giving  offence  to  so  many 
persons  of  distinction  kept  the  poor  man  sufficiently  quiet,  and  he  was 
afterwards  remunerated  by  some  indirect  patronage,  so  that  the  jest  was 
admitted  a  good  one  on  all  sides.  In  England,  at  any  period,  or  in 
some  parts  of  Scotland  at  the  present  day,  it  might  not  have  passed  off 
so  well. 

Note  F,  p.  iii. — Ancient  Hospitality. 

It  was  once  the  universal  custom  to  place  ale,  wine,  or  some  strong 
liquor  in  the  chamber  of  an  honored  guest,  to  assuage  his  thirst  should  he 
feel  any  on  awakening  in  the  night,  which,  considering  that  the  hospitality 
of  that  period  often  reached  excess,  was  by  no  means  unlikely.  The  Author 
has  met  some  instances  of  it  in  former  days,  and  in  old-fashioned  families 
It  was,  perhajjs,  no  poetic  fiction  that  records  how 

"  My  cummer  and  I  lay  down  to  sleep 
With  two  pint  stoups  at  our  bed-feet ; 
And  aye  when  we  waken't  we  drank  them  dry  : 
What  think  you  o'  my  cummer  and  I." 

It  is  a  current  story  in  Teviotdale,  that,  in  the  house  of  an  ancient 
family  of  distinction,  much  addicted  to  the  Presbyterian  cause,  a  Bible  was 
always  put  into  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  guests,  along  with  a  bottle  of 
strong  ale.  On  some  occasion  there  was  a  meeting  of  clergymen  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  castle,  all  of  whom  were  invited  to  dinner  by  the  worthy 
Baronet,  and  several  abode  all  night.  According  to  the  fashion  of  the 
times,  seven  of  the  reverend  guests  were  allotted  to  one  large  barrack- 
room,  which  was  used  on  such  occasions  of  extended  hospitality.  The 
butler  took  care  that  tiic  divines  were  j^resented,  according  to  custom,  each 
with  a  Bible  and  a  bottle  of  ale.  But  after  a  little  consultation  among 
themselves,  they  are  said  to  have  recalled  the  domestic  as  he  was  leaving 
the  apartment.  "  My  friend,"  said  one  of  the  venerable  guests,  "  vou  musf 
know,  when  we  meet  to  together,  as  brethren,  the  youngest  minister  reads 
aloud  a  portion  of  Scripture  to  the  rest ;  only  one  Bible,  therefore,  is  neces- 
sary ;  take  away  the  other  six,  and  in  their  place  bring  six  more  bottles  of 
ale." 

This  synod  would  have  suited  the  "  hermit-sage  "  of  Johnson,  who  an. 
swered  a  pupil  who  inquired  for  the  real  road  to  happiness,  with  the  cele- 
brated line, 

"  Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer!  " 

Note  G,  p.  158.— Appeal  to  Parliament. 

The  power  of  appeal  from  the  Court  of  Session,  the  supreme  Judges  of 
Scotland,  to  the  Scottish  Parliament,  in  cases  of  civil  right,  was  fiercely  de* 
bated  before  the  Union.    It  was  a  privilege  highly  desirable  for  th*  subject 


NOTES  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 


*79 


as  tne  examination  and  occasional  reversal  of  their  sentences  in  Parliament, 
might  serve  as  a  check  upon  the  Judges,  which  they  greatly  required  at  a 
time  when  they  were  much  more  distinguished  for  legal  knowledge  than  for 
uprightness  and  integrity. 

The  members  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  (so  the  Scottish  barristers  are 
termed),  in  the  year  1674,  incurred  the  violent  displeasure  of  the  Court  of 
Session,  on  account  of  their  refusal  to  renounce  the  right  of  appeal  to  Par- 
liament ;  and,  by  a  very  arbitrary  procedure,  the  majority  of  the  number 
were  banished  from  Edinburgh,  and  consequently  deprived  of  their  profes- 
sional practice  for  several  sessions,  or  terms.  But  by  the  articles  of  the 
Union,  an  appeal  to  the  British  House  of  Peers  has  been  secured  to  the 
Scottish  subject ;  and  that  right  has,  no  doubt,  had  its  influence  in  forming 
the  i;npartial  and  independent  character,  which,  much  contrary  to  the 
practice  of  their  predecessors,  the  Judges  of  the  Court  of  Session  have 
since  displayed. 

It  is  easy  to  conceive,  that  an  old  lawyer,  like  the  Lord  Keeper  in 
the  text,  should  feel  alarm  at  the  judgments  given  in  his  favor,  upon 
grounds  of  strict  penal  law,  being  brought  to  appeal  under  a  new  and 
dreaded  procedure  in  a  Court  eminently  impartial,  and  peculiarly  moved  by 
considerations  of  equity. 

In  earlier  additions  of  this  Work,  this  legal  distinction  was  not  sufficiently 
explained. 

Note  H,  p.  181. — The  Poor-Man-of-Mutton. 

The  blade-bone  of  a  shoulder  of  mutton  is  called  in  Scotland  "  a  poor 
man,"  as  in  some  parts  of  England  it  is  termed  "a  poor  knight  of  Wind- 
sor; "  in  contrast,  it  must  be  presumed,  to  the  baronial  Sir  Loin.  It  is 
said,  that  in  the  last  age  an  old  Scottish  peer,  whose  conditions  (none  of 
the  most  gentle)  were  marked  by  a  strange  and  fierce-looking  exaggeration 
of  the  Highland  countenance,  chanced  to  be  indisposed  while  he  was  ia 
London  attending  Parliament.  The  master  of  the  hotel  where  he  lodged, 
anxious  to  show  attention  to  his  noble  guest,  waited  on  him  to  enumerate 
the  contents  of  his  well-stocked  larder,  so  as  to  endeavor  to  hit  on  some- 
thing which  might  suit  his  appetite.  "  I  think,  landlord,"  said  his  lordship, 
rising  up  from  his  couch,  and  throwing  back  the  tartan  plaid  with  which  he 
had  screened  his  grim  and  ferocious  visage — "  I  think  I  could  eat  a  morsel 
oi  z  poor  man."  The  landlord  fled  in  terror,  having  no  doubt  that  his 
guest  was  a  cannibal,  who  might  be  in  the  habit  of  eating  a  slice  of  a 
tenant,  as  light  food,  when  he  was  under  regimen. 


Note  I,  p.  212. — Running  Footmen. 

Hereupon  I,  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  crave  leave  to  remark, /r/»/^,  which 
signifies,  in  the  first  place,  that,  having  in  vain  inquired  at  tlie  Circulating 
Library  in  Gandercleugh,  albeit  it  aboundeth  in  similar  vanities,  for  this 
samyn  Middleton  and  his  Mad  World,*  it  was  at  length  shown  unto  me 
amongst  other  ancient  fooleries  carefully  compiled  by  one  Dodsley,  who, 
doubtless,  hath  his  reward  for  neglect  of  precious  time;  and  having 
misused  so  much  of  mine  as  was  necessary  for  the  purpose,  I  therein  found 
that  a  play-man  is  brought  in  as  a  footman,  whom  a  knight  is  made  to 
greet  facetiously  with  the  epithet  of  "  linen  stocking  and  three-score  miles 
a-day. " 

•  (In  Dodsley's  Select  Celleciion  of  Old  Plays,  vol.  v.  pp.  307-402,  ia  reprinted  the  Pl^f 
by  Thomas  Middleton,  first  published  in  i6oS,  entitled  A  Mad  IVorldx  tny  Matters.} 


ago  NOTES  TO  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOQR. 

Secundo  (which  is  secondly  in  the  vernacular),  under  Mr.  Pattieson's 
favor,  some  men  not  altogether  so  old  as  he  would  represent  them,  do  re- 
member this  species  of  menial,  or  forerunner.  In  evidence  of  which,  I, 
Tedediah  Cleishbotham,  though  mine  eyes  yet  do  me  good  service,  remem- 
ber me  to  have  seen  one  of  this  tribe  clothed  in  white,  and  bearing  a  sfaff, 
who  ran  daily  before  the  stage-coach  of  the  umquhile  John,  Earl  of  Hope- 
ton,  father  of  this  Earl,  Charles,  that  now  is;  unto  whom  it  may  be  justly 
said,  that  Renown  playeth  the  part  of  a  running  footman,  or  precursor: 
and  as  the  poet  singeth — 

"  Mars  standing  by  asserts  his  quarrel, 
And  Fame  flies  after  with  a  laurel." 


Note  J,  p.  237. — Trumpeter  Marine  at  Sheriffmuir. 

(The  battle  of  Sheriffmuir,  which  took  place  in  November  17  [5,  was 
claimed  as  a  victory  by  both  sides.  This  gave  rise  to  a  clever  popular  song 
printed  at  the  time  as  a  bioadside,  under  the  title  of  "^  Race  at  Sheriff- 
mnir,  fairly  run  on /he  i-^th  A''oz'e?nber,  17 15,  to  the  tune  of  THE  HORSE- 
MAN'S Sport." 

"  There's  some  say  that  we  wan,  some  say  that  tliey  wan. 
Some  say  that  nane  wan  at  a',  man  : 
But  one  thing  I'm  sure,  that  at  Sluriffmuir 
A  battle  there  was,  which  I  saw,  man. 
And  we  ran,  and  i/iey  ran,  andtliey  ran,  atidwe  ran. 
And  we  ran,  andiliey  ran  awa,  man." 

In  these  satirical  verses  Trumpeter  Marine  is  introduced,  and  in  proof 
of  Sir  Walter's  accuracy  as  to  the  name,  the  following  note  iiiay  be  added, 
as  recent  editors  of  this  ballad  have  altered  it  to  Maclean. 

In  the  Present  State  of  Great  Britain,  London,  1 7 10,  Francis  Marine  is 
second  on  the  list  of  Queen  Anne's  Trumpeters  for  Scotland,  while  in  the 
volume  for  17 16  his  name  occurs  among  the  oiificers  of  the  King's  house- 
hold, as  "  Francis  Marine,  Sen.,"  and  there  is  added  as  fifth  trumpeter, 
•'  Francis  Marine,  Jun."  These  household  trinn peters  were  employed,  as 
thev  are  to  this  day  in  the  Lyon  Office,  for  announcing  royal  proclama- 
tions, and  attending  the  Circuit  Courts  of  Justiciary.  Another  son  or 
grandson,  named  James  Marine,  continues  to  appear  as  trumpeter  down  to 

178;. 

The  words  referred  to,  in  the  original  ballad  of  Sheriffmuir,  are  as 
follow : — 

And  Trumpet  Marine  too,  whose  breeks  were  not  clean,  through 

Misfortune  he  happen'd  to  fa',  man  : 
By  saving  his  neck,  his  trumpet  did  break. 

Came  off  witliout  musick  at  a',  man. 
And  we  ran,  and  ttiey  ran,  etc. 

No  doubt  there  was  a  John  Maclean,  trumpeter,  sent  on  a  message  from 
the  rebels  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle  before  the  battle,  but  the  modern  im- 
provers have  spoiled  the  verses  both  as  to  rhyme  and  accuracy;  while  the^ 
have  overlooked  the  description  of  the  trumpeter's  dress,  which  would  evi- 
dently indicate  his  not  being  a  Highlander.) 


GLOSSARY. 


TO 


THE   BRIDE   OF   LAMMERMOOR. 


A',  all. 

Abbe,  let  alone. 

Abi.eeze,  ablaze. 

Abunk,  above. 

Ae,  one. 

Aff,  o£f. 

Again,  against,  until. 

Ahint,  behind. 

AiRT,  to  direct. 

Aits,  oats. 

AivER,  a  broken-winded  horse. 

Allenarly,  solely. 

An,  if. 

Ane  ANiTHBR,  One  another. 

Aroint,  avaunt. 

Ass,  ash. 

AuLD  Reekie,  Edinburgh. 

Aw,  owe 

Back-sey,  the  sirloin. 

Bailie,  a  magistrate. 

Bairn,  a  child. 

Bawbee,  a  halfpenny. 

Bedesman,  one  supported  by  charity 

Bedral,  beadle,  sexton. 

Beflumm,  befool. 

Bide,  stay,  wait. 

Binna,  be  not. 

Birkie,  a  lively  little  fellow. 

BiRKiE,  the  game  of  beggar-my-neighbor. 

Birling,  drinking. 

Blackavisbd,  black-visaged. 

Blerze,  blaze. 

Blythe,  merry. 

Black   as  the  crook,  i.e.,  the  chain  used 

for  suspending  a  pot  in  old  fireplaces. 
BoGLu,  a  ghost. 
BouROCK,  a  mound. 
Bow  AND  brack,  bow  and  hound. 
Bowk,  body,  carcass. 
Brander,  broil. 
Braw,  brave,  fine. 
Brent,  straight  and  smooth. 
Brewis,  the  scum  caused  by  boiling. 
Broche,  a  roasting  spit. 
Bund,  bound. 
Busk,  to  deck  up. 

Ca*,  can. 

Caickling,  cackling. 
Callant,  a  young  lad. 


Cantrips,  tricks,  vagaries. 

Canty,  cheerful. 

Capot,  to  win  all  the  tricks  at  picqutfc. 

Carle,  a  fellow. 

Carline,  a  jade. 

Cauld  be  my  cast,  cold  be  my  fate  or  IpfL 

Chaumer,  chamber. 

Chappin,  a  quart. 

Chappit,  struck. 

Chield,  a  fellow. 

Clavers,  idle  talk,  gossip. 

Claw  up  your    mittens,    to   finish    jrai^ 

give  the  co7ip  tie  gnue. 
Clockin  hen,  a  sitting  hen. 
Cockernony,  a  top-knot  on  the  head. 
Cog,  to  empty  or  pour  out 
Cummer,  a  gossip  or  friend, 
Cupar,  will  to,  maun  to,  a  wilful  vtf, 

must  have  his  way. 

Daffing,  frolicking,  larking. 

Daft,  crazy. 

Dbil,  devil. 

Ding,  knock. 

DiNNA,  do  not. 

Dittay,  an  indictment. 

Doited,  doited 

DoNNART,  stupid. 

Dog,  a  dove. 

Dour,  stubborn. 

Drap-de-berry,  fine  woollen  dadb 

Dreigh,  dry. 

Drouthv,  dry. 

DuNCH,  to  nudge. 

Dune,  done. 

Dung,  knocked. 

DwiNiNG,  declining. 

Ebb,  shallow. 
Een,  eyes. 
ExiEs,  hysterica. 

Fat,  what. 

Tailzie,  legal,  to  fail. 
Feckless,  feeble,  silly. 
Fell,  terrible. 
P'lT,  the  foot. 
Flyte,  to  scold. 
Forbears,  ancestor*. 
FoKBY.  besides. 


282 


GLOSSARY. 


FoRGATHBK,  come  together,  become  inti- 
mate. 

Fou,  a  bushel. 

Fool  thief,  the  devil. 

FoY,  an  entertainment  ol  gaudeamus.  at  a 
leave-taking. 

Frab,  {rem. 

Fremd,  strange. 

Freit,  an  omen. 

Gab,  go. 

Gaisling,  a  gosling. 

Gank,  gone. 

Ganc,  go. 

Gar,  make,  oblige. 

Gate,  way,  manner,  direction. 

Gauger,  exciseman. 

Gawsie,  plump,  jolly. 

Gear,  money,  property* 

Gbizened,  leaky. 

Gib,  give. 

Gip,  if 

Gird,  a  hoop. 

GiRN,  grin. 

Gledging,  looking  askance. 

Glked,  a  spark. 

Gleeing,  squinting. 

Glent,  glance. 

Glower,  to  gaze. 

GowD,  gold. 

Gowk,  a  cuckoo,  a  fooL 

Graith,  furniture. 

Greet,  cry,  weep. 

GuDE  guide  us  !  Lord  preserve  us! 

Gudeman,  head  of  the  house,  applied  to  the 

husband. 
GuDEWiFB,  head    of  the  house,  applied   to 

the  wife. 
GusTiNG     THEIR      GABS,     pleasing     their 

palates. 

Haggis,  a  favorite  Scotch  pudding. 

Haill,  whole. 

Hatted  KIT,  a  bowlful  of  sourer  curdled 

cream. 
Haud,  hold. 

Heather-cow,  twig  of  heath. 
Hellicat,  villain. 
How,  hollow. 

Ilka,  each,  every. 

Ilka  land  its  ain    lauch  (law),  every 

place  its  own  custom. 
Ill-clecket,  ill-hatched. 
Illdeedv  gett,  a  mischievous  urchin. 
Ingan,  an  onion. 
Inlakb,  death,  deficiency. 

J  best,  jest 
Jow,  to  toll 

Kail,  broth. 

Kailyard,  cabbage  garden. 

Kain,  a  tax  (in    kind)   paid  by   tenant   to 

landlord. 
Kkbbuck,  a  large  cheese. 
Kbek,  peep. 
Keep  hbr  thrkkp,  keep  on  her  course   of 

resolution. 
Ken, know. 
Kknspbcklb,   outre,  different  from   other 

peraoBs. 


KiMMER,  a  gossip,  a  friend. 
Kippagb,  confusion. 
Kipper,  dried  salmon. 
KisT,  a  chest,  coffin. 
Kittle,  to  tickle. 

Lammkr,  amber. 

Landward,  in  the  country. 

Lauch,  law. 

La  WING,  the  account  or  bill. 

Lee,  a  lie. 

LippKN,  to  trust. 

Lith  and  limb,  in  bodily  shap«>  entirely 

Loot,  allowed. 

Loupen,  leaped. 

Lowe,  flame. 

Lug,  the  ear. 

LuMM,  a  chimney. 

LuRDANB,  blockhead,  lazy. 

Mailing,  a  small  farm. 
Main,  a  hand  at  dice. 
Maun,  must. 
Meal-poke,  meal-bag. 
Melter,  a  male-herring. 
Mersb,  Berwickshire. 
Mbssan,  a  cur. 
Mirk,  dark. 
Misgie,  go  wrong. 
MoNY,  many. 
Muckle,  much. 
Mull,  a  snufi-hom. 

MURGANS,  or  MURGEONS,  mOUths. 

My  sartie!  my  faith  ! 

Napery,  table  linen. 
Natheless,  nevertheless. 
Ne'er-do-well,  a    worthless,    do-aothief 

person. 
NouLD  I,  would  I  not. 
Nourice-ship,  nurse-ship. 
NowT,  black  cattle. 

OwER,  over. 
Oxter,  armpit. 

Pands,  pledges. 

Parochine.  parish. 

Pat,  put. 

Peat,  turf. 

Pegh,  pant. 

Pen  can't  play,  pen  can  do  nothi»{. 

PiCK-MAW,  a  species  of  gull. 

Pickle,  a  little. 

Pigs,  earthenware  jars. 

PiNNYWINKLES,  the  StOCks. 

PiNT-SToup,  pint  measure. 

Plack,  a  small  copper  coin. 

Pliskie,  a  prank. 

Ploy,  a  merry-making. 

Pu',  pull. 

PuND  .Scots,  is.  8d,  sterhng. 

Quean,  a  young  woman,  a  fliit. 

Raily,  an  upper  dress. 

Reaving,  robbing. 

Redd,  to  clear.  -   . 

RuDAs,   a  scolding  jade. 

Runlet,  a  soiall  bamU 

Sau.,  shaU. 


\ 


GLOSSARY. 


283 


Saraband,  a  grave  Spanish  dance. 

Sark,  a  shirt. 

Saui,,  soul. 

Scraugh,  screech. 

Scunner,  to  loathe. 

Shaughlkd,  worn  dovm. 

Sic,  such. 

SiccAN,  such. 

Siller,  silver  money. 

Skart,  scratch 

Skirl,  scream. 

Sloken,  quench. 

Snap,  a  biscuit. 

Sneckdrawer,  a  sneak. 

Sneeshin,  snuff. 

Soothfast,  true,  honest. 

Sorra  a  bit,  devil  a  bit. 

Sough,  a  sigh,  a  report. 

Soup,  sup,  spoonful. 

SouPLE,   a  switch. 

Souse,  to  give  a  drubbing. 

SowENS,  a  thick  gruel. 

Speer,  ask,  inquire. 

Spule-bane,  shoulder-blade. 

Steading,  farm  buUdings. 

Steer,  to  disturb. 

-Stoup,  liquid  measure. 

.Strae,  straw. 

Streak,  stretch. 

SuLD,  should. 

SuMPH,  a  slow  dunce. 

Swanking,  active,  agile. 

SwAUK,  strike  forcibly. 

Swap,  to  strike  soundly. 

SvBO,  a  young  onion. 

SvND,  to  rinse. 

SvNE,  since,  ago. 

Taen,  taken. 

Taid,  a  toad. 

Tait,  a  small  portion. 

Tantrum    the  pet,  great  airs,  a  vagary. 

Tap  o'    tow   an    irritable  person,  easily  in 

flamed. 
Testers,  bed  covers. 
Thowlhss,  inactive. 
Thkaw,  twist. 


Through-stane,  a  l!at  grayeston*. 

Thunner,  thunder. 

TiMMER,  woodwork. 

Tocher,  dowry. 

TotJT,  the  pet. 

Troth,  sure. 

Trow,  trust. 

Tup,  a  ram. 

Virginals,  an  old-fashioned  sort  of  piano. 
VivKRS,  victuals. 
VisiE,  inspection. 

Wad,  would. 

Wadsetter,  a  holder  of  another's  properly 

under  pledge. 
Wae,  sorry. 
Wame,  belly. 
Wap,  a  smart  stroke. 
Ware,  to  spend. 
Warlock,  a  witch. 
Wastland,  west  country. 
Wat,  wet. 
Water-purpie,  the  brook-lime   or  torse' 

well  grass. 
Waur,  worse. 
Wean,  a  chUd. 
Wee,  little. 
Weel,  well, 
Wha,  who. 
Whample,  a  blow. 
Wheen,  a  few. 
Whii-K,  which. 
Whin-bush,  furze. 
White-hass,  a  sausage  pudding. 
Whomling,   turning. 
Wi'  it,  with  it. 
Will  to  Cupar,  maun  to  Cupar,  a  wllfd 

man  must  have  his  way. 
WiNNA,  will  not. 
WooDiE,  the  gallows. 
Wraith,  a  ghost  seen  before  deftthr 
WuD,  mad. 
Wvte,  blame. 


INDEX  T .-  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR. 


AlLsts  GoDKLAT  appointed  nurse  to  Lncyi 

241.    Evil  prognostications  at  the  wedding, 

260.     And  at  the  funeral,  267. 
Alice,  Blind,  visited  by  Sir  W.  Ashton  and 

Lucy,  19.     Painful    visit   from   Lucy  and 
Kavenswood,  145.     Apparition  and  death  of, 

Apparition  at  the  Mermaiden's  Fountain, 
185. 

Appeal  to  Parliament,  note  on,  292. 

Armitage  Churchyard,  scene  in,  igz. 

Ashton,  Colonel,  resents  Ravenswood's  in- 
terference, 251.  Challenges  Ravenswood, 
269. 

Ashton,  Henry,  friglitened  at  Edgar's  ap- 
pearance, 142.     Losis  his  dagger,  259. 

Ashton  Lady,  4.  Unexpected  arrival  at 
Ravenswood  Castle,  174.  Requests  Ed- 
gar to  leave  the  Castle,  181.  Enconrdg- 
ing  Bucklaw  and  Lucy,  230.  Cuts  the 
ribbon,  256. 

Ashton  Lucy.     St-e  Lucy. 

Ashton,  Sir  William,  2.  Hears  of  thetuthull 
at  Ravenswood's  funeral,  q.  Visit  to  Blind 
Alice,  19.  Meeting  with  Ravenswood,  ji. 
Tones  down  his  complaint  against  Ravens- 
wood, 34.  Asks  a  reconciliation  with 
Ravenswood,  112.  Insecurity  of  his  es- 
tate, 116.  Removes  Ravenswood's  sus- 
picions of  him;  U9.  His  policy  toward 
Edgar,  159.  Rated  by  his  wife,  179. 
Menaced  with  an  appeal,  222. 

Assassniation  familiar  to  the  ancient  baroo, 

23- 

Author's  explanation  on  the  Stair  family,  iiL 
Author's  illness  during   the  progress  of  the 
Bride  of  Lammarmoor,  >eoie  281. 

Balderstom.     See  Caleb. 

Ballantynes,  the,  note  nn,  ago. 

Bidc-the  Bent,  R<v.  Mr.,  at  Girder's  cottage, 

103.      Called    in    to    counsel   Lucy,  245. 

quotes  Scripture,  254. 
nittlebrains,  lx)rd,  138. 
Blind  .'Vlice.     See  Alice. 
Bride  of   Lammermoor,  (Janet  Dalrymple), 

see  a/sj  I,ucy  Ashton,  2. 
.Bride  of   Lammermoor,  the  novel,  dictation 

of,  by  the  Author,  fiote,  281. 
Bucklaw  at  the  Todd's  Den,  3.      Challenges 

Ravenswood,  55.     Lod.ues  in  Wolf's  Crag, 

S».     Complaints  ot  his  night's  lodging,  57. 

Sets  oft  lor  the  chase,  69.    Refused  admrt-  | 


'  tance  to  the  Tower,  79.  Now  Laird  oi 
Girnington,  152.  Determines  to  court 
Lucy  Ashton,  166.  And  despatches  Craig 
engelt  on  the  mission,  170.  Uneasy  aboiK 
his  suit  with  Lucy,  226-229.  Stabbed  by 
his  bride,  264. 

Bull  scene  at  Ravenswood,  25. 

Burial  rites  on  old  Alice,  i8g. 

Burial  scene  in  Armitage  Churchyard,  192. 

Caleb  Balderston,  reception  of  his  mas- 
ter and  Bucklaw,  50.  Collects  the  drib- 
blets of  claret,  55.  Uncovering  his  dish  of 
herrings.  65.  Implores  his  master  not  to 
invite  more  guests,  68.  Consternation  at 
seeiig  Lucy  and  her  father  coming  to  tha 
Tower,  77.  Shuts  out  the  flunkeys,  79. 
Announces  the  spoiling  of  the  dinner,  87. 
Requisitions  on  the  tenantry  /efused,  94. 
Enters  Girder's  cottage,  99.  And  makes 
off  with  the  roast  fowl,  10 1.  Propitiated 
by  Girder,  loR.  Warns  his  masser  against 
his  reconciliation  with  the  Ashtons,  134. 
Forces  money  on  his  master,  136.  Set! 
fire  to  the  Tower,  205,  213  Surrounded 
by  the  Girders,  208.  Picks  up  his  mas 
ter's  feather,  273.     Note  on,  291. 

Cattle,  wild  Scotch,  24 

Chase  at  Ravenswood,  69. 

Coldingliame  Churchyard,  192. 

Craigengelt  at  the  Tod's  Den,  37  Glad  to 
receive  Bucklaw  back  again,  81.  Refused 
admittance  by  Ravenswood,  125.  Carouse 
with  Bucklaw,  163.  Despatch<!d  to  so. 
licit  Lucy's  hand,  170,  Reviving  Buck 
law's  courage,  226. 


Dalrvmplk  family,   connection    with  th» 

novel,  ill.      Note  on,  289. 
Description,  the   drawing  and  tinting  of  aO 

author,  xix 
Dick  Tinto.     .S'c^'Tinto. 
Dialogue,  Dick  Tinto's  ideas  of,  xx. 
Dunbar   of    Baldoon,  connection  with  Janet 

Dalrymple  (Bride  of  Lammermoor),  iv. 

Edgar.     See  Ravenswood, 

Fast  Castlr,  identity  of,  10, 49. 

Ftu-rights,  93. 

Footmen,  running,  note  on,  293. 


INDEX    TO    THE  BRIDE  OE  LAMMERMOOR. 


Gamekeeper  an  important  person,  15. 

tjirder  the  cooper's  indignation  at  his  wife 
and    Caleb,     103.       Sends    a    rundlet    of 

brandy   to   Caleb,    107.        Marquis   A 

entertained  in  his  house,  211. 

Girnington,    Lady,     Bucklaw's    grand-aunt, 

Gourlay.     See  Ailsie. 

Graveyard,  scene  between  Mortsheugh  and 
Ravenswood,  193. 

Hayston,  Frank.     See  Bucklaw. 
He  is  come — he  is  come  !  249. 
Henry  Ashton.     See  Ashton. 
Hospitality,  ancient,  note  on,  292. 

J'anet      Dalrymplk,    prototype     of     the 

Bride  of  Lammermoor,  iv. 
Justice,    corrupt     administration,    time     of 

tale,  3. 

Kelpie's  Flow,  Caleb's  waniiRg,  135. 
Comes  true,  272. 

Lockhart,  Sir  George,  note  on,  290. 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,  12. 

Lord  Keeper.     See  Ashton,  Sir  W. 

Lucy  Ashton,  at  her  lute,  37.  Takes  her 
father  to  Blind  Alice,  18.  Rescued  from 
the  bull,  26.  Her  thoughts  of  Ravens- 
wood,  33.  Led  by  Ravenswood  into 
Wolf's  Crag,  75.  Her  conduct  to  Edgar, 
no.  His  influence  on  her,  124.  Be- 
trothal scene,  152.  Love  Passages,  159. 
Her  reception  of  Bucklaw,  229.  Perse- 
cuted by  her  mother,  240.  Arrival  of 
Ravenswood,  249.  Allows  her  mother  to 
cut  the  ribbon,  256.  Her  wedding  day, 
258.  Stabs  her  husband  (Bucklaw),  and 
her  death,  264. 


Marine  the  Truinpeter,  note  on,  294. 

Marquis  of  A ,  letfjr  to    Ravenswood  on 

his  prospects,  62,  xiS.  Arrival  at  Rav- 
enswood Castle,  173.  Counsels  Ravens- 
wood to  give  up  Lucy,  200. 

Marriage  of  Lucy  and  Bucklaw,  259. 

Master  of  Ravenswood.     See  Ravenswood- 

Merniaiden's  P'ountain,  legend  on,  27. 
Betrothal  scene  at,  152.  Apparition  at, 
185. 

Morning  favorable  to  calm  reflection,  57. 

Mortsheugh  the  sexton,  193. 

Mutton,  poor-man-of,  note  on,  293. 

Music,  concealed,  gives  a  mingled  pleasure. 


NifiHT,    ancient    hospitalities    to    strangers 

passing  the,  note,  292. 
Norman  tlie  gamekeeper,  15. 

Painting,  and  poetry,  xix.     Excels  the  ape 

of  Gines  de  Passamont,  xxi. 
Parliament,  .Scotch  appeii  to,  292, 
I'uetry  and  painting,  xix. 


Pnor-man-of-nnittnn,  note  on,  29^ 
Poor,  the.  Girder's  consideration  for  (:)  22a 
Privy  Council  wonder  over  Sir  W.  Ashton's 
conciliatory  spirit,  35. 

Raid  of  Caleb  Balderston,  note,  291. 

Raven  shot  at  the  betrothal.  155. 

Ravenswood  Castle,  visit  of  Edgar,  739. 

Ravenswood,  Lord  Allan,  funeral  of,  5. 

Ravenswood,  Master  of  (Edgar),  conduct 
at  his  father's  funeral,  6.  Rescues  Lucy 
from  the  bull,  iS.  Hasty  visit  to  the 
Tod's  Den,  41.  Combat  with  Bucklaw, 
45.  Lodges  him  in  Wolf's  Crag,  51. 
Thoughts  of  Lucy,  60.  Meets  with  Sir 
W.  Ashton  and  Lucy  at  the  chase,  73. 
And  gives  them  refuge  in  the  Tower,  76. 
His  troubled  thoughts  on  their  visit,  114. 
Feels  the  influence  of  Lucy,  124.  Con- 
temptuous treatment  of  Craigengelt,  125. 
Reconciliation  with  Ashton,  130.  Warn- 
ing from  Caleb,  134.  Visit  to  Ravens- 
wood, 139.  Accompanies  Lucy  to  old 
Alice's,  145.  Betrothal  at  the  fountain, 
153.  Love  passages  with  Lucy,  159. 
Desired  to  leave  the  Castle,  iSi.  Meets 
an  apparition  at  the  well,  i?6.  Evil 
prognostications,  192.  Interview  with 
the    sexton,    193.      Counseled  by    Marquis 

A ,   200-     Departure   for  abroad,    and 

letters  to  the  Ashtous,  222.  Reply  f'om 
Lucy,  225.  Interrupts  her  betrothal  to 
Bucklaw,  250.  Receives  back  the  en- 
gaged token,  256.  At  Lucy's  funeral,  26S. 
Perishes  in  the  Kelpie's  Flow,  272. 

Ravenswood,  house  of,  iii. 

Revenge,  a  gentleman-like  sin,  47. 

Running  footmen,  note  on,  293. 

Rutherford,  Lord,  connection  with  Janet 
Dalryraple  (Bride  of  Lammermoor),  iv. 

Scotch  burial  customs, 

Scotch  wild  cattle,  24, 

Sign  painting,  xiv. 

Sleep,  ancient  hospitalities,  note,  292- 

Stag's  horn,  dangerous  wound  from,  72. 

Stair  family,   connection  with   the  novel,  ni. 

note  on,  2S9. 
Symson  of  Kirkinner,  vii. 

Thb    monk    must    rise    when    the     matins 

ring,  17. 
Tinto,    Dick,   his    pedigree,   xiii.     Plies  his 

brush,  xiv. 
Tod's  l>en  alehouse,  37. 
Truinpeter  Marine,  note  on,  294. 
Turntippet,  Lord,  his  restitution,  221. 

Weddin&  scene,  262 

When    the    last    Laird    of    Ravenswood  to 

Ravenswood  shall  ride,  135. 
Wolf's    Crag,    49.       Banqueting    hall,     53. 

Scene  in,  with   Ravenswood   and  the  Ash- 
oil's,  no.     Pseudo-burning  of,  205. 
Wolf's    Hope    village,   connection    with   the 

Ravenswoods,     93.        Entertainment     of 

Marquis  A at,  2 1 1. 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S   MIRROR. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  species  of  publication  which  has  come  to  be  generally 
known  by  the  title  o{  Annual,  being  a  miscellany  of  prose  and 
verse,  equipped  with  numerous  engravings,  and  put  forth  every 
year  about  Christmas,  had  flourished  for  a  long  while  in  Germany, 
before  it  was  imitated  in  this  country  by  an  enterprising  bookseller, 
a  German  by  birth,  Mr.  Ackermann.  The  rapid  success  of  his 
work,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  time,  gave  birth  to  a  host  of  rivals, 
and,  among  others,  to  an  annual  styled  The  Keepsake,  the  first 
volume  of  which  appeared  in  1828,  and  attracted  much  notice, 
chiefly  in  consequence  of  the  very  uncommon  splendor  of  its  illus- 
trative accompaniments.  The  expenditure  which  the  spirited  pro- 
prietors lavished  en  this  magnificent  volume  is  understood  to  have 
been  not  less  than  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand  pounds  sterling  ! 

Various  gentlemen,  of  such  literary  reputation  that  any  one 
might  think  it  an  honor  to  be  associated  with  them,  had  been  an- 
nounced as  contributors  to  this  annual,  before  application  was 
made  to  me  to  assist  in  it ;  and  I  accordingly  placed  with  much 
pleasure  at  the  Editor's  disposal  a  few  fragments,  originally  de- 
signed to  have  been  worked  into  the  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate, 
besides  a  MS.  Drama,  the  long-neglected  performance  of  my 
youthful  days— The  House  of  Aspen. 

The  Keepsake  for  1828  included,  however,  only  three  of  these 
little  prose  tales — of  which  the  first  in  order  was  that  entitled 
"  My  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror."  By  way  of  introduction  to  this, 
when  now  included  in  a  general  collection  of  my  lucubrations,  I 
have  only  to  say  that  it  is  a  mere  transcript,  or  at  least  with  very 
little  embellishment,  of  a  story  that  1  remembered  being  struck 
with  in  my  childhood,  when  told  at  the  fireside  by  a  lady  of  emi- 
nent virtues,  and  no  inconsiderable  share  of  talent,  one  of  the  an- 
cient and  honorable  house  of  Swinton.  She  was  a  kind  relation 
of  my  own,  and  met  her  death  in  a  manner  so  shocking,  being 
killed  in  a  fit  of  insanity  by  a  female  attendant  who  had  been  at- 
tached to  her  person  for  half  a  lifetime,  that  I  cannot  now  recall 
her  memory,  child  as  I  was  when  the  catastrophe  occurred,  with- 
out a  painful  reawakening  of  perhaps  the  first  images  of  horror 
that  the  scenes  of  real  life  stamped  on  my  mind. 


li  INTR  OD  UCTIOM. 

This  good  spinster  had  in  her  composition  a  strong  vein  of  the 
superstitious,  and  was  pleased,  among  other  fancies,  to  read  alone 
in  her  chamber  by  a  taper  fixed  in  a  candlestick  which  she  had 
formed  out  of  a  human  skull.  One  night,  this  strange  piece  of 
furniture  acquired  suddenly  the  power  of  locomotion,  and,  after 
performing  some  odd  circles  on  her  chimney-piece,  fairly  leaped 
on  the  floor,  and  continued  to  roll  about  the  apartment.  Mrs. 
Swinton  calmly  proceeded  to  the  adjoining  room  for  another  light, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  to  penetrate  the  mystery  on  the  spot. 
Rats  abounded  in  the  ancient  building  she  inhabited,  and  one  of 
these  had  managed  to  ensconce  itself  within  her  favorite  vicnicnto 
mori.  Though  thus  endowed  with  a  more  than  feminine  share  of 
nerve,  she  entertained  largely  that  belief  in  supernatural  which 
in  those  times  was  not  considered  as  sitting  ungracefully  on  the 
grave  and  aged  of  her  condition;  and  the  story  of  the  Magic  Mir- 
ror was  one  for  which  she  vouched  with  particular  confidence,  al- 
leging indeed  that  one  of  her  own  family  had  been  an  eye-witness 
of  the  incidents  recorded  in  it. 

"  I  tell  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me.'' 

Stories  enow  of  much  the  same  cast  will  present  themselves  to 
the  recollection  of  such  of  my  readers  as  have  ever  dabbled  in  a 
species  of  lore  to  which  I  certainly  gave  more  hours,  at  one  period 
of  my  life,  than  I  should  gain  any  credit  by  confessing. 

August,  1831. 


MY   AUNT   MARGARETS    MIRROR. 


"  There  are  times 
When  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seems, 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  mark'd  partition, 
'Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved, 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain'd  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 
Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life." 

Anonymous. 

My  Aunt  Margaret  was  one  of  that  respected  sisterhood, 
upon  whom  devolve  all  the  trouble  and  solicitude  incidental  to 
the  possession  of  children,  excepting  only  that  which  attends 
their  entrance  into  the  world.  We  were  a  large  family,  of  very 
different  dispositions  and  constitutions.  Some  were  dull  and 
peevish — they  were  sent  to  Aunt  Margaret  to  be  amused  ;  some 
were  rude,  romping,  and  boisterous — they  were  sent  to  Aunt 
Margaret  to  be  kept  quiet,  or  rather  that  their  noise  might  be 
removed  out  of  hearing  :  those  who  were  indisposed  were  sent 
with  the  prospect  of  being  nursed — those  who  were  stubborn, 
with  the  hope  of  their  being  subdued  by  the  kindness  of  Aunt 
Margaret's  discipline  ;  in  short,  she  had  all  the  various  duties  of 
a  mother,  without  the  credit  and  dignity  of  the  maternal  char- 
acter. The  busy  scene  of  her  various  cares  is  now  over — of  the 
invalids  and  the  robust,  the  kind  and  the  rough,  the  peevish 
and  pleased  children,  who  thronged  her  little  parlor  from 
morning  to  night,  not  one  now  remains  alive  but  myself ;  who, 
afflicted  by  early  infirmity  was  one  of  the  most  delicate  of  her 
nurslings,  yet,  nevertheless,  have  outlived  them  all. 

It  is  still  my  custom,  and  shall  be  so  while  I  have  the  use  of 
my  limbs,  to  visit  my  respected  relation  at  least  three  times  a- 
week.  Her  abode  is  about  half-a-mile  from  the  suburbs  of  th-e 
town  in  which  I  reside ;  and  is  accessible  not  only  by  the  high- 


^  MV  A  UNT  M ARC  A  RE  T'S  MIRROR. 

road,  from  which  it  stands  at  some  distance,  but  by  means  of  a 
greensward  footpath,  leading  through  some  pretty  meadows. 
I  have  so  little  left  to  torment  me  in  life,  that  it  is  one  of  my 
greatest  vexations  to  know  that  several  of  these  sequestered 
fields  have  been  devoted  as  sites  for  building.  In  that  which 
is  nearest  the  town,  wheelbarrows  have  been  at  work  for  several 
weeks,  in  such  numbers,  that,  I  verily  believe,  its  whole  surface, 
to  the  depth  of  at  least  eighteen  inches,  was  mounted  in  these 
monotrochs  at  the  same  moment,  and  in  the  act  of  being  trans- 
ported from  one  place  to  another.  Huge  triangular  piles  of 
planhs  are  also  reared  in  different  parts  of  the  devoted  messuage; 
and  a  little  group  of  trees,  that  still  grace  the  eastern  end,  which 
rises  in  a  gentle  ascent,  have  just  received  warning  to  quit,  ex- 
pressed by  a  daub  of  white  paint,  and  are  to  give  place  to  a 
curious  grove  of  chimneys. 

It  would,  perhaps,  hurt  others  in  my  situation  to  reflect  that 
this  little  range  of  pasturage  once  belonged  to  my  father  (whose 
family  was  of  some  consideration  in  the  world),  and  was  sold  by 
patches  to  remedy  distresses  in  which  he  involved  himself  in  an 
attempt  by  commercial  adventure  to  redeem  his  diminished 
fortune.  While  the  building  scheme  was  in  full  operation,  this 
circumstance  w^as  often  pointed  out  to  me  by  the  class  of  friends 
who  are  anxious  that  no  part  of  your  misfortunes  should  escape 
your  observation.  "  Such  pasture-ground  ! — lying  at  the  very 
town's  end — in  turnips  and  potatoes,  the  parks  would  bring  ;^2o 
per  acre,  and  if  leased  for  building — Oh,  it  was  a  gold  mine  ! 
• — And  all  sold  for  an  old  song  out  of  the  ancient  possessor's 
hands  !  "  My  comforters  cannot  bring  me  to  repine  much  on 
this  subject.  If  I  could  be  allowed  to  look  back  on  the  past 
without  interruption,  I  could  w^illingly  give  up  the  enjoyment  of 
present  income,  and  the  hope  of  future  profit,  to  those  who 
have  purchased  what  my  father  sold,  I  regret  the  alteration  of 
the  ground  only  because  it  destroys  associations,  and  I  would 
more  willingly  (I  think)  see  the  Earl's  Closes  in  the  hands  of 
strangers,  retaining  their  sylvan  appearance,  than  know  them  for 
my  own,  if  torn  up  by  agriculture,  or  covered  with  buildings. 
Mine  are  the  sensations  of  poor  Logan  : — 

"  The  horrid  plougli  has  razed  the  green 
Wliere  yet  a  child  I  stray'd  ; 
The  axe  has  felled  the  hawthorn  screen, 
The  schoolboy's  sunnner  shade." 

I  hope,  however,  the  threatened  devastation  will  not  be  con- 
summated in  my  day.  Although  the  adventurous  spirit  of  times 
short  while  since  passed  gave  rise  to  the  undertaking,  1  have 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  ^ 

been  encouraged  to  think,  that  the  subsequent  changer,  have  so 
far  damped  the  spirit  of  speculation,  that  the  rest  of  the  wood- 
land footpath  leading  to  Aunt  Margaret's  retreat  will  be  left  un- 
disturbed for  her  time  and  mine.  I  am  interested  in  this,  for 
every  step  of  the  way,  after  I  have  passed  through  the  green  al- 
ready mentioned,  has  for  me  something  of  early  remembrance  : 
— There  is  the  stile  at  which  I  can  recollect  a  cross  child's-maid 
upbraiding  me  with  my  infirmity,  as  she  lifted  me  coarsely  and 
carelessly  over  the  flinty  steps,  which  my  brothers  traversed 
with  shout  and  bound.  I  remember  the  suppressed  bitterness 
of  the  moment,  and,  conscious  of  my  own  inferiority,  the  feeling 
of  envy  with  which  I  regarded  the  easy  movements  and  elastic 
steps  of  my  more  happily  formed  brethren.  Alas  !  these  goodly 
barks  have  all  perished  on  life's  wide  ocean,  and  only  that  which 
seemed  so  little  seaworthy,  as  the  naval  phrase  goes,  has  reached 
the  port  when  the  tempest  is  over.  Then  there  is  the  pool,  where, 
manoeuvring  our  little  navy  constructed  out  of  the  broad  water 
flags,  my  elder  brother  fell  in,  and  was  scarce  saved  from  the 
watery  element  to  die  under  Nelson's  banner.  There  is  the 
hazel  copse  also,  in  which  my  brother  Henry  used  to  gather 
nuts,  thinking  little  that  he  was  to  die  in  an  Indian  jungle  in 
quest  of  rupees. 

There  is  so  much  more  of  remembrance  about  the  little  walk, 
that — as  I  stop,  rest  on  my  crutch-headed  cane,  and  look  round 
with  that  species  of  comparison  between  the  thing  I  was  and 
that  which  I  now  am — it  almost  induces  me  to  doubt  my  own 
identity  ;  until  I  find  myself  in  face  of  the  honeysuckle  porch 
of  Aunt  Margaret's  dwelling,  with  its  irregularity  of  front,  and  its 
odd  projecting  latticed  windows  ;  where  the  workmen  seem  to 
have  made  a  study  that  no  one  of  them  should  resemble  another, 
in  form,  size,  or  in  the  old-fashioned  stone  entablature  and  la- 
bels which  adorn  them.  This  tenement,  once  the  manor-house 
of  Pearl's  Closes,  we  still  retain  a  slight  hold  upon  ;  for,  in  some 
family  arrangements,  it  had  been  settled  upon  Aunt  Margaret 
during  the  term  of  her  life.  Upon  this  frail  tenure  depends,  in 
a  great  measure,  the  last  shadow  of  the  family  of  Bothwell  of 
Earl's  Closes,  and  their  last  slight  connection  with  their  pater- 
nal inheritance.  The  only  representative  will  then  be  an  infirm 
old  man,  moving  not  unwillingly  to  the  grave,  which  has  de- 
voured all  that  were  dear  to  his  affections. 

When  I  have  indulged  such  thoughts  for  a  minute  or  two,  I 
enter  the  mansion,  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  gatehouse 
only  of  the  original  building,  and  find  one  being  on  whom  time 
seems  to  have  made  little  impression  ;  for  the  Aunt  Margaret 
of  to-day  bears  the  same  proportional  age  to  the  Aunt  Margaret 


6  MY  AUNT  MA  RGARE  T'S  MIRROR, 

of  my  early  youth,  that  the  boy  of  ten  years  old  does  to  the  man 
of  (by'r  Lady  !)  some  fifty-six  years.  The  old  lady's  invariable 
costume  has  doubtless  some  share  in  contirming  one  in  the 
opinion,  that  time  has  stood  still  with  Aunt  Margaret. 

The  brown  or  chocolate-colored  silk  gown,  with  ruffles  of 
the  same  stuff  at  the  elbow,  within  which  are  others  of  Mechlin 
lace — the  black  silk  gloves,  or  mitts,  the  white  hair  combed 
back  upon  a  roll,  and  the  cap  of  spotless  cambric,  which  closes 
around  the  venerable  countenance,  as  they  were  not  the  costume 
of  1780,  so  neither  were  they  that  of  1826;  they  are  altogether 
a  style  peculiar  to  the  individual  Aunt  Margaret.  There  she 
still  sits,  as  she  sat  thirty  years  since,  with  her  wheel  or  the 
stocking,  which  she  works  by  the  fire  in  winter  and  by  the  win- 
dow in  summer ;  or,  perhaps,  venturing  as  far  as  the  porch  in 
an  unusually  fine  summer  evening.  Her  frame,  like  some  well- 
constructed  piece  of  mechanics,  still  performs  the  operations 
for  which  it  had  seemed  destined  ;  going  its  round  with  an  ac- 
tivity which  is  gradually  diminished,  yet  indicating  no  probability 
that  it  will  soon  come  to  a  period. 

The  solicitude  and  affection  which  had  made  Aunt  Margaret 
the  willing  slave  to  the  inflictions  of  a  whole  nursery,  have  now 
for  their  object  the  health  and  comfort  of  one  old  and  fnfirm 
man,  the  last  remaining  relative  of  her  family,  and  the  only  one 
who  can  still  find  interest  in  the  traditional  stores  which  she 
hoards,  as  some  miser  hides  the  gold  which  he  desires  that  no 
one  should  enjoy  after  his  death. 

My  conversation  with  Aunt  Margaret  generally  relates  little 
either  to  the  present  or  to  the  future  :  for  the  passing  day  we 
possess  as  much  as  we  require,  and  we  neither  of  us  wish  for 
more;  and  for  that  which  is  to  follow  we  have  on  this  side  of 
the  grave  neither  hopes,  nor  fears,  nor  anxiety.  We  therefore 
naturally  look  back  to  the  past ;  and  forget  the  present  fallen 
fortunes  and  declined  importance  of  our  family,  in  recalling  the 
hours  when  it  was  wealthy  and  prosperous. 

With  this  slight  introduction,  the  reader  will  know  as  much 
of  Aunt  Margaret  and  her  nephew  as  is  necessary  to  comprehend 
the  following  conversation  and  narrative. 

Last  week,  when,  late  in  a  summer  evening,  I  went  to  call  on 
the  old  lady  to  whom  my  reader  is  now  introduced,  I  was  received 
by  her  with  all  her  usual  affection  and  benignity;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  she  seemed  abstracted  and  disposed  to  silence.  I 
asked  her  the  reason.  "  They  have  been  clearing  out  the  old 
chapel,"  she  said,  "  John  Clayhudgeons  having,  it  seems,  dis- 
covered that  the  stuff  within — being,  I  suppose,  the  remains  of 
our  ancestors — was  excellent  for  top-dressing  the  meadows." 


My  A  UNT  MA R GA RE  T'S  MIRROR.  « 

Here  I  started  up  with  more  alacrity  than  I  have  displayed 
for  some  years ;  but  sat  down  while  my  aunt  added,  laying  her 
hand  upon  my  sleeve,  "  The  chapel  has  been  long  considered  as 
common  ground,  my  dear,  and  used  for  a  penfold,  and  what 
objection  can  we  have  to  the  man  for  employing  what  is  his 
own,  to  his  ov.-n  profit  ?  Besides,  I  did  speak  to  him,  and  he 
very  readily  and  civilly  promised,  that,  if  he  found  bones  or  mon- 
uments, they  should  be  carefully  respected  and  reinstated  ;  and 
what  more  could  I  ask  ?  So,  the  first  stone  they  found  bore  the 
name  of  Margaret  Both  well,  1585,  and  I  have  caused  it  to  be  laid 
carefully  aside,  as  I  think  it  betokens  death  ;  and  having  served 
my  namesake  two  hundred  years,  it  has  just  been  cast  up  in  time 
to  do  me  the  same  good  turn.  My  house  has  been  long  put  in 
order,  as  far  as  the  small  earthly  concerns  require  it,  but  who 
shall  say  that  their  account  with  Heaven  is  sufficiently  revised  ?  " 

"  After  what  you  have  said,  aunt,"  I  replied,  "  perhaps  I 
ought  to  take  my  hat  and  go  away,  and  so  I  should,  but  that 
there  is  on  this  occasion  a  little  alloy  mingled  with  our  devotion. 
To  think  of  death  at  all  times  is  a  duty — to  suppose  it  nearer, 
from  the  finding  of  an  old  gravestone,  is  superstition  ;  and  you, 
with  your  strong  useful  common  sense,  which  was  so  long  the 
prop  of  a  fallen  family,  are  the  last  person  whom  I  should  have 
suspected  of  such  weakness." 

"  Neither  would  I  have  deserved  your  suspicions,  kinsman," 
answered  Aunt  Margaret,  "  if  we  were  speaking  of  any  incident 
occurring  in  the  actual  business  of  human  life.  But  for  all  this 
I  have  a  sense  of  superstition  about  me,  which  I  do  not  wish  to 
part  with.  It  is  a  feeling  which  separates  me  from  this  age,  and 
links  me  with  that  to  which  I  am  hastening  ;  and  even  when  it 
seems,  as  now,  to  lead  me  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  bids 
me  gaze  on  it,  I  do  not  love  that  it  should  be  dispelled.  It 
soothes  my  imagination,  without  influencing  my  reason  or 
conduct." 

"  I  profess,  my  good  lady,"  replied  I,  "that  had  any  one  but 
you  made  such  a  declaration,  I  should  have  thought  it  as  capri- 
cious as  that  of  the  clergyman,  who,  without  vindicating  his 
false  reading,  preferred,  from  habit's  sake,  his  old  Mumpsimus 
to  the  modern  Sumpsimus." 

"  Well,"  answered  my  aunt,  "  I  must  explain  my  inconsistency 
in  this  particular,  by  comparing  it  to  another.  I  am,  as  you 
know,  a  piece  of  that  old-fashioned  thing  called  a  Jacobite  ;  but 
I  am  so  in  sentiment  and  feeling  only ;  for  a  more  loyal  subject 
r-jvcr  joined  in  prayers  for  the  health  and  wealth  of  George  the 
Fourth,  whom  God  long  preserve  !  But  I  dare  say  tiiat  kind- 
hcnrted  sovereign  would  not  deem  that  an  old  woman  did  hinj 


3  jlfY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MlRkOR. 

much  injury  if  she  leaned  back  in  her  arm-chair,  just  in  such  a 
twilight  as  this,  and  thought  of  the  high-mettled  men,  whose 
sense  of  duty  called  them  to  arms  against  his  grandfather  ;  and 
how,  in  a  cause  which  they  deemed  that  of  their  rightful  prince 
and  country, 

*  They  fought  till  their  hands  to  the  broadsword  were  glued, 
They  fought  against  fortune  with  iiearts  unsubdued.' 

Do  not  come  at  such  a  moment,  when  my  head  is  full  of  plaids, 
pibrochs,  and  claymores,  and  ask  my  reason  to  admit  what,  I 
am  afraid,  it  cannot  deny — I  mean,  that  the  public  advantage 
peremptorily  demanded  that  these  things  should  cease  to  exist. 
I  cannot,  indeed,  refuse  to  allow  the  justice  of  your  reasoning; 
but  yet,  being  convinced  against  my  will,  you  will  gain  little  by 
your  motion.  You  might  as  well  read  to  an  infatuated  lover  the 
catalogue  of  his  mistress's  imperfections  ;  for,  when  he  has  been 
compelled  to  listen  to  the  summary,  you  will  only  get  for  answer, 
that,  '  he  lo'es  her  a'  the  better.' '' 

I  was  not  sorry  to  have  changed  the  gloomy  train  of  Aunt 
Margaret's  thoughts,  and  replied  in  the  same  tone,  "  Well,  I  can't 
help  being  persuaded  that  our  good  king  is  the  more  sure  of 
Mrs.  Bothwell's  loyal  affection,  that  he  has  the  Stuart  right  of 
birth,  as  well  as  the  Act  of  Succession  in  his  favor," 

"  Perhaps  my  attachment,  were  its  source  of  consequence, 
might  be  found  warmer  for  the  union  of  the  rights  you  mention," 
said  Aunt  Margaret ;  "  but,  upon  my  word,  it  would  be  as  sincere 
if  the  king's  right  were  founded  only  on  the  will  of  the  nation, 
as  declared  at  the  Revolution.  I  am  none  of  yoMX  j'uere  devino 
folk." 

"And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding." 

"  And  a  Jacobite  notwithstanding  ;  or  rather,  I  will  give  you 
leave  to  call  me  one  of  the  party  which,  in  Queen  Anne's  time, 
were  called  Whimsicals  \  because  they  were  sometimes  operated 
upon  by  feelings,  sometimes  by  principle.  After  all,  it  is  very 
hard  that  you  will  not  allow  an  old  woman  to  be  as  inconsistent 
in  her  political  sentiments,  as  mankind  in  general  show  them- 
selves in  all  the  various  courses  of  life  ;  since  you  cannot  point 
out  one  of  them,  in  which  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  those 
who  pursue  it  are  not  perpetually  carrying  us  away  from  the 
path  which  our  reason  points  out." 

"True,  aunt;  but  you  are  a  wilful  wanderer,  who  should  be 
forced  back  into  the  right  path." 

"  Spare  me,  I  entreat  you,"  replied  Aunt  Margaret.  "  You 
remember  the  Gaelic  song,  though  I  dare  say  1  mispronounce 
the  words — 


xVY  A  O'A '  T  MA  R  GA  RE  T'S  MIRROR.  p 

*  Hateel  mohateel  nah  dovvskee  mee.' 
'  I  am  asleep,  do  not  waken  me.' 

I  tell  you,  kinsman,  that  the  sort  of  waking  dreams  which  my 
imagination  spins  out,  in  what  your  favorite  Wordsworth  calls 
*  moods  of  my  own  mind,'  are  worth  all  the  rest  of  my  more 
active  days.  Then,  instead  of  looking  forward  as  I  did  in 
youth,  and  forming  for  myself  fairy  palaces,  upon  the  verge  of 
the  grave,  I  turn  my  eyes  backward  upon  the  days  and  manners 
of  my  better  time  ;  and  the  sad,  yet  soothing  recollections  come 
so  close  and  interesting,  that  I  almost  think  it  sacrilege  to  be 
wiser,  or  more  rational,  or  less  prejudiced,  than  those  to  whom 
I  looked  up  in  my  younger  )'ears." 

"  I  think  I  now  understand  what  you  mean,  "  I  answered, 
*'  and  can  comprehend  why  you  should  occasionally  prefer  the 
twilight  of  illusion  to  the  steady  light  of  reason." 

"  Where  there  is  no  task,"  she  rejoined,  "  to  be  performed, 
we  may  sit  in  the  dark  if  we  like  it — if  we  go  to  work,  we  must 
ring  for  candles." 

"And  amidst  such  shadowy  and  doubtful  light,"  continued 
I,  "  imagination  frames  her  enchanted  and  enchanting  visions, 
and  sometimes  passes  them  upon  the  senses  for  reality." 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Margaret,  who  is  a  well-read  woman,"  to 
those  who  resemble  the  translator  of  Tasso, 

*  Prevailing  poet,  whose  undoubting  mind 
Believed  the  magic  wonders  which  he  sung.' 

It  is  not  required  for  this  purpose,  that  you  should  be  sensible 
of  the  painful  horrors  which  an  actual  belief  in  such  prodigies 
inflicts — such  a  belief,  now-a-days,  belongs  only  to  fools  and 
children.  It  is  not  necessary  that  your  ears  should  tingle,  and 
your  comiilexion  change,  like  that  of  Theodore,  at  the  approach 
of  the  apectral  huntsman.  All  that  is  indispensable  for  the  en- 
joyment of  the  milder  feeling  of  supernatural  awe  is,  that  you 
should  be  susceptible  of  the  slight  shuddering  which  creeps  over 
you  when  you  hear  a  tale  of  terror — that  well-vouched  tale  which 
the  narrator,  having  first  expressed  his  general  disbelief  of  all 
such  legendary  lore,  selects  and  produces,  as  having  something 
in  it  which  he  has  been  always  obliged  to  give  up  as  inexplicable. 
Another  symptom  is,  a  momentary  hesitation  to  look  round  you, 
when  the  interest  of  the  narrative  is  at  the  highest  ;  and  the 
third,  a  desire  to  avoid  looking  into  a  mirror,  when  you  are  alone, 
in  your  chamber,  for  the  evening.  I  mean  such  are  signs  which 
indicate  the  crisis,  when  a  female  imagination  is  in  due  tempera- 


iO 


MY  AUN'I  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


ture  to  enjoy  a  ghost  story.  I  do  not  pretend  to  describe  those 
which  express  the  same  disposition  in  a  gentleman." 

"This  last  symptom,  dear  aunt,  of  shunning  the  mirror, 
seems  likely  to  be  a  rare  occurrence  amongst  the  fair  sex." 

"  You  are  a  novice  in  toilet  fashions,  my  dear  kinsman.  All 
women  consult  the  looking-glass,  with  anxiety  before  they  go 
into  company  ;  but  when  they  return  home,  the  mirror  has  not 
the  same  charm.  The  die  has  been  cast — the  party  has  been 
successful  or  unsuccessful,  in  the  impression  which  she  desired 
to  make.  But  without  going  deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
dressing-table,  I  will  tell  you  that  I  myself,  like  many  other 
honest  folk,  do  not  like  to  see  the  blank  black  front  of  a  large 
mirror  in  a  room  dimly  lighted,  and  where  the  reflection  of  the 
candle  seems  rather  to  lose  itself  in  the  deep  obscurity  of  the 
glass,  than  to  be  reflected  back  again  into  the  apartment.  That 
space  of  inky  darkness  seems  to  be  a  field  for  Fancy  to  play  her 
revels  in.  She  may  call  up  other  features  to  meet  us,  instead 
of  the  reflection  of  our  own  ;  or,  as  in  the  spells  of  Hallowe'en, 
which  we  learned  in  childhood,  some  unknown  form  may  be 
seen  peeping  over  our  shoulder.  In  short,  when  I  am  in  a 
ghost-seeing  humor,  I  make  my  handmaiden  draw  the  green 
curtains  over  the  mirror  before  I  go  into  the  room,  so  that  she 
may  have  the  first  shock  of  the  apparition,  if  there  be  any  to 
be  seen.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  this  dislike  to  look  into  a 
mirror  in  particular  times  and  places,  has,  I  believe,  its  original 
foundation  in  a  story  which  came  to  me  by  tradition  from  my 
grandmother,  who  was  a  party  concerned  in  the  scene  of  which 
I  will  now  tell  you." 

THE    MIRROR. 

CHAPTER  FIRST. 

You  are  fond  (said  my  aunt)  of  sketches  of  the  society 
which  has  passed  away.  I  wish  I  could  describe  to  you  Sit 
Philip  Forester,  the  "  chartered  libertine  "  of  Scottish  good 
company,  about  the  end  of  the  last  century.  I  never  saw  him 
indeed  ;  but  my  mother's  traditions  were  full  of  his  wit,  gallan- 
try, and  dissipation.  This  gay  knight  flourished  about  the  end 
of  the  seventeenth  and  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
He  was  the  Sir  Charles  Easy  and  the  Lovelace  of  his  day  and 
country  ;  renowned  for  the  number  of  duels  he  had  fought,  and 
the  successful  intrigues  which  he  had  carried  on.  The  suprem- 
acy   which   he   had   attained   in   the   fashionable    world   was 


MV  AUNT  MARGARET  S  MIRROR. 


tl 


absolute  :  and  when  we  combine  it  with  one  or  two  anecdotes, 
for  which,  "  if  laws  were  made  for  every  degree,"  he  ought 
certainly  to  have  been  hanged,  the  popularity  of  such  a  person 
really  serves  to  show,  either  that  the  present  times  are  much 
more  decent,  if  not  more  virtuous,  than  they  formerly  were  ; 
or,  that  high  breeding  then  was  of  more  difficult  attainment 
than  that  which  is  now  so  called  ;  and  consequently,  entitled 
the  successful  professor  to  a  proportionable  degree  of  plenary 
indulgences  and  privileges.  No  beau  of  this  day  could  have 
borne  out  so  ugly  a  story  as  that  of  Pretty  Peggy  Grindstone, 
the  miller's  daughter  at  Sillermills — it  had  well-nigh  made  work 
for  the  Lord  Advocate,  But  it  hurt  Sir  Philip  Forester  no  more 
than  the  hail  hurts  the  hearthstone.     He  was  as  well  received 

in  society  as  ever,  and  dined  with  the  Duke  of  A •  the  day 

the  poor  girl  was  buried.  She  died  of  heartbreak.  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  story. 

Now,  you  must  listen  to  a  single  word  upon  kith,  kin,  and 
ally  ;  I  promise  you  I  will  not  be  prolix.  But  it  is  necessary 
to  the  authenticity  of  my  legend,  that  you  should  know  that 
Sir  Philip  Forester,  with  his  handsome  person,  elegant  accom- 
plishments, and  fashionable  manners  married  the  younger  Miss 
Falconer  of  King's-Copland.  The  elder  sister  of  this  lady  had 
previously  become  the  wife  of  my  grandfather,  Sir  Geoffrey 
Bothwell,  and  brought  into  our  family  a  good  fortune.  Miss 
Jemima,  or  Miss  Jemmie  Falconer,  as  she  was  usually  called, 
had  also  about  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling — then  thought  a 
very  handsome  portion  indeed. 

The  two  sisters  were  extremely  different,  though  each  had 
their  admirers  while  they  remained  single.  Lady  Bothwell  had 
some  touch  of  the  old  King's-Copland  blood  about  her.  She 
was  bold,  though  not  to  the  degree  of  audacity  ;  ambitious,  and 
desirous  to  raise  her  house  and  family  ;  and  was,  as  has  been 
said,  a  considerable  spur  to  my  grandfather,  who  was  otherwise 
an  indolent  man  ;  but  whom,  unless  he  has  been  slandered,  his 
lady's  influence  involved  in  some  political  matters  which  had 
been  more  wisely  let  alone.  She  was  a  woman  of  high  principle, 
however,  and  masculine  good  sense,  as  some  of  her  letters 
testify,  which  are  still  in  my  wainscot  cabinet. 

Jemmie  Falconer  was  the  reverse  of  her  sister  in  every 
respect.  Her  understanding  did  not  reach  above  the  ordinary 
pitch,  if,  indeed,  she  could  be  said  to  have  attained  it.  Her 
beauty,  while  it  lasted,  consisted,  in  a  great  measure,  of  delicacy 
of  complexion  and  regularity  of  features,  without  any  peculiar 
force  of  expression.  Even  these  charms  faded  under  the  suffer- 
ings attendant  on  an  ill-sorted  match.      She  was  passionately 


,2  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

attached  to  hijr  husband,  by  whom  she  was  treated  with  a  callous, 
yet  polite  indifference,  which,  to  one  whose  heart  was  as  tender 
as  her  judgment  was  weak,  was  more  painful  perhaps  than  abso- 
lute ill-usage.  Sir  Philip  was  a  voluptuary,  that  is,  a  completely 
selfish  egotist,  whose  disposition  and  character  resembled  the 
rapier  he  wore,  polished,  keen,  and  brilliant,  but  inflexible  anc- 
unpitying.  As  he  observed  carefully  all  the  usual  forms  toward 
his  lady,  he  had  the  art  to  deprive  her  even  of  the  compassion 
of  the  world  ;  and  useless  and  unavailing  as  that  may  be  wliile 
actually  possessed  by  the  sufferer,  it  is,  to  a  mind  like  Lady 
Forester's,  most  painful  to  know  she  has  it  not. 

The  tattle  of  society  did  its  best  to  place  the  peccant  husband 
above  the  suffering  wife.  Some  called  her  a  poor  spiritless 
thing,  and  declared  that,  with  a  little  of  her  sister's  spirit,  she 
might  have  brought  to  reason  any  Sir  Philip  whatsoever,  were 
it  the  termagant  Falconbridge  himself.  But  the  greater  part 
of  their  acquaintance  affected  candor,  and  saw  faults  on  both 
sides  ;  though,  in  fact,  there  only  existed  the  oppressor  and  the 
oppressed.  The  tone  of  such  critics  was — "  To  be  sure,  no  one 
will  justify  Sir  Philip  Forester,  but  then  we  all  know  Sir  Philip, 
and  Jemmie  Falconer  might  have  known  what  she  had  to  ex- 
pect from  the  beginning.  What  made  her  set  her  cap  at  Sir 
Philip? — He  would  never  have  looked  at  her  if  she  had 
not  thrown  herself  at  his  head,  with  her  poor  ten  thou- 
sand pounds.  I  am  sure,  if  it  is  money  he  wanted,  she  spoiled 
his  market.  I  know  where  Sir  Philip  could  have  done 
much  better. — And  then,  if  she  would  have  the  man,  could  not 
she  try  to  make  him  more  comfortable  at  home,  and  have  his 
friends  oftener,  and  not  plague  him  with  the  squalling  children, 
and  take  care  all  was  handsome  and  in  good  style  about  the 
house  ?  I  declare  I  think  Sir  Philip  would  have  made  a  very 
domestic  man,  with  a  woman  who  knew  how  to  manage  him." 

Now  these  fair  critics,  in  raising  their  profound  edifice  of 
domestic  felicity,  did  not  recollect  that  the  corner-stone  was 
wanting  ;  and  that  to  receive  good  company  with  good  cheer, 
the  means  of  the  banquet  ought  to  have  been  furnished  by  Sir 
Philip ;  whose  income  (dilapidated  as  it  was)  was  not  equal  to 
the  display  of  hospitality  required,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  the 
supply.-of  the  good  knight's  menus plaisirs.  So,  in  spite  of  all 
that  was  so  sai^ely  suggested  by  female  friends.  Sir  Philip  car- 
ried his  good-humor  everywhere  abroad,  and  left  at  home 
a  solitary  mansion  and  a  pining  spouse. 

At  length,  inconvenienced  in  his  money  affairs,  and  tired 
even  of  the  short  time  which  he  spent  in  his  own  dull  house, 
Sir  Philip  Forester  determined  to  take  a  trip  to  the  Continent 


MV  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


13 


in  the  capacity  of  a  volunteer.  It  was  then  common  for  men 
of  fashion  to  do  so  ;  and  our  knight  perhaps  was  of  opinion  that 
a  touch  of  the  military  character,  just  enough  to  exalt,  but  not 
render  pedantic,  his  qualities  as  a  beau  garden,  was  necessary 
to  maintain  possession  of  the  elevated  situation  which  he  held 
in  the  ranks  of  fashion. 

Sir  Philip's  resolution  threw  his  wife  into  agonies  of  terror, 
by  which  the  worthy  baronet  was  so  much  annoyed,  that,  con- 
rary  to  his  wont,  he  took  some  trouble  to  soothe  her  appre- 
hensions ;  and  once  more  brought  her  to  shed  tears,  in  which 
sorrow  was  not  altogether  unmingled  with  pleasure.  Lady 
Bothwell  asked,  as  a  favor,  Sir  Philip's  permission  to  receive 
her  sister  and  her  family  into  her  own  house  during  his  absence 
on  the  Continent.  Sir  Philip  readily  assented  to  a  proposition 
which  saved  expense,  silenced  the  foolish  people  who  might 
have  talked  of  a  deserted  wife  and  family  and  gratified  Lady 
Bothwell,  for  whom  he  felt  some  respect,  as  for  one  who  often 
spoke  to  him,  always  with  freedom,  and  sometimes  with  sever- 
ity, without  being  deterred  either  by  his  raillery,  or  the  prestige 
of  his  reputation. 

A  day  or  two  before  Sir  Philip's  departure,  Lady  Both- 
well  took  the  liberty  of  asking  him,  in  her  sister's  presence, 
the  direct  question,  which  his  timid  wife  had  often  desired,  but 
never  ventured,  to  put  to  him. 

"  Pray,  Sir  Philip,  what  route  do  you  take  when  you  reach 
the  Continent .-'  " 

"  I  go  from  Leith  to  Helvoet  by  a  packet  with  advices." 

"  That  I  comprehend  perfectly,"  said  Lady  Bothwell  dryly ; 
"  but  you  do  not  mean  to  remain  long  at  Helvoet,  I  presume, 
and  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  your  next  object  ?  " 

"  You  ask  me,  my  dear  lady,"  answered  Sir  Philip,  "  a  ques- 
tion which  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  myself.  The  answer  depends 
on  the  fate  of  war.  1  shall,  of  course,  go  to  head-quarters, 
wherever  they  may  happen  to  be  for  the  time  ;  deliver  my  let- 
ters of  introduction  ;  learn  as  much  of  the  noble  art  of  war  as 
may  suffice  a  poor  interloping  amateur  ;  and  then  take  a  glance 
at  the  sort  of  thing  of  which  we  read  so  much  in  the  Gazette." 

"  And  I  trust.  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  that  you 
will  remember  that  you  are  a  husband  and  a  father  ;  and  that 
though  you  think  fit  to  indulge  this  military  fancy,  you  will  not 
let  it  hurry  you  into  dangers  which  it  is  certainly  unnecessary 
for  any  save  professional  persons  to  encounter." 

"  Lady  Bothwell  does  me  too  much  honor,"  replied  the 
adventurous  knight,  "  in  regarding  such  a  circumstance  with  the 
slightest  interest.     But  to  soothe  your  flattering  anxiety,  I  trust 


H 


MV  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


your  ladyship  will  recollect,  that  I  cannot  expose  to  hazard  the 
venerable  and  paternal  character  which  you  so  obligingly  recom- 
mend to  my  protection,  without  putting  in  some  peril  an  honest 
fellow,  called  Philip  Forester,  with  whom  I  have  kept  company 
for  thirty  years,  and  with  whom,  though  some  folk  consider  him 
a  coxcomb,  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  part." 

"Well,  Sir  Philip,  you  are  the  best  judge  of  your  own 
affairs  ;  I  have  little  right  to  interfere — you  are  not  my  hus- 
band," 

"  God  forbid  !  " — said  Sir  Philip  hastily  ;  instantly  adding, 
how-ever,  "  God  forbid  that  I  should  deprive  my  friend  Sir 
Geoffrey  of  so  inestimable  a  treasure." 

"  But  you  are  my  sister's  husband,"  replied  the  lady  ;  "  and 
I  suppose  you  are  aware  of  her  present  distress  of  mind  " 

"  If  hearing  of  nothing  else  from  morning  to  night  can  make 
me  aware  of  it,"  said  Sir  Philip,  "  I  should  know  something  of 
the  matter." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  reply  to  your  wit.  Sir  Philip,"  an- 
swered Lady  Bothwell  ;  "  but  you  must  be  sensible  that  all  this 
distress  is  on  account  of  apprehensions  for  your  personal 
safety." 

"  In  that  case,  I  am  surprised  that  Lady  Bothwell,  at  least, 
should  give  herself  so  much  trouble  upon  so  insignificant  a 
subject." 

"  My  sister's  interest  may  account  for  my  being  anxious  to 
learn  something  of  Sir  Philip  Forester's  motions ;  about  which 
otherwise,  I  know,  he  would  not  wish  me  to  concern  myself.  I 
have  a  brother's  safety,  too,  to  be  anxious  for." 

"  You  mean  Major  Falconer,  your  brother  by  the  mother's 
side  : — What  can  he  possibly  have  to  do  with  our  present 
agreeable  conversation } " 

"  You  have  had  words  together.  Sir  Philip,"  said  Lady 
Bothwell. 

"  Naturally  ;  we  are  connections,"  replied  Sir  Philip,  "  and 
as  such  have  always  had  the  usual  intercourse." 

"That  is  an  evasion  of  the  subject,"  answered  the  lady. 
"  By  words,  I  mean  angry  words,  on  the  subject  of  your  usage 
of  your  wife." 

"If,"  replied  Sir  Philip  Forester,  "you  suppose  Major  Fal- 
coner simple  enough  to  intrude  his  advice  upon  me.  Lady 
Bothwell,  in  my  domestic  matters,  you  are  indeed  warranted  in 
believing  that  I  might  possibly  be  so  far  displca:.ed  with  the 
interference,  as  to  request  him  to  res^irve  his  advice  till  it  wa? 
asked." 


A/V  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


IS 


"  And,  being  on  these  terms,  you  are  going  to  join  the  very 
army  in  which  my  brother  Falconer  is  now  serving  ?" 

''  No  man  knows  the  path  of  honor  better  than  Major  Fal- 
coner," said  Sir  Philip.  "  An  aspirant  after  fame,  like  me, 
cannot  choose  a  better  guide  than  his  footsteps." 

Lady  Bothwell  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  the  tears  gush- 
ing from  her  eyes. 

"  And  this  heartless  railery,"she  said,  "  is  all  the  consider- 
ation that  is  to  be  given  to  our  apprehensions  of  a  quarrel 
which  may  bring  on  the  most  terrible  consequences?  Good 
God !  of  what  can  men's  hearts  be  made,  who  can  thus  dally 
with  the  agony  of  others  .'  " 

Sir  Philip  Forester  was  moved  ;  he  laid  aside  the  mocking 
tone  in  which  he  had  hitherto  sjDoken. 

"  Dear  Lady  Bothwell,"  he  said,  taking  her  reluctant  hand, 
"  we  are  both  wrong  : — you  are  too  deeply  serious  ;  I,  perhaps, 
too  little  so.  The  dispute  I  had  with  Major  Falconer  was  of 
no  earthly  consequence.  Had  anything  occurred  betwixt  us 
that  ought  to  have  been  settled /<^?r  voie  du  fait,  as  we  say  in 
France,  neither  of  us  are  persons  that  are  likely  to  postpone 
such  a  meeting.  Permit  me  to  say,  that  were  it  generally 
known  that  you  or  my  Lady  Forester  are  apprehensive  of  such 
a  catastrophe,  it  might  be  the  very  means  of  bringing  about 
what  would  not  otherwise  be  likely  to  happen.  I  know  your 
good  sense,  Lady  Bothwell,  and  that  )'ou  will  understand  me 
when  I  say,  that  really  my  affairs  require  my  absence  for  some 
months  ; — this  Jemima  cannot  understand  ;  it  is  a  perpetual  re- 
currence of  questions,  why  can  you  not  do  this,  or  that,  or  the 
third  thing ;  and,  when  you  have  proved  to  her  that  her  expedi- 
ents are  totally  ineffectual,  you  have  just  to  begin  the  whole 
round  again.  Now,  do  you  tell  her,  dear  Lady  Bothwell,  that 
you  are  satisfied.  She  is,  you  must  confess,  one  of  those  persons 
with  whom  authority  goes  further  than  reasoning.  Do  but  re- 
pose a  little  confidence  in  me,  and  you  shall  see  how  amply  I 
will  repay  it." 

Lady  Bothwell  shook  her  head,  as  one  but  half  satisfied. 
'■'  How  difficult  it  is  to  extend  confidence,  when  the  basis  on 
which  it  ought  to  rest  has  been  so  much  shaken  !  But  I  will 
do  my  best  to  make  Jemima  easy  ;  and  further,  I  can  only  say, 
that  for  keeping  your  present  purpose,  I  hold  you  responsible 
both  to  God  and  man." 

"Do  not  fear  that  I  will  deceive  you,"  said  Sir  Philip  ;  "the 
safest  conveyance  to  me  will  be  through  the  general  post-office 
Helvoetsluys,  where  1  will  talce  care  to  leave  orders  for  for- 
warding my  letters.     As  for  Falconer,  our  only  encounter  will 


l6  My  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

be  over  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  !  so  make  yourself  perfectly  easy 
on  his  score." 

Lady  Bothwell  could  not  make  herself  easy  ;  yet  she  was 
sensible  that  her  sister  hurt  her  own  cause  by  taking  on,  as  the 
maid-servants  call  it,  too  vehemently  ;  and  by  showing  before 
every  stranger,  by  manner,  and  sometimes  by  words  also,  a  dis- 
satisfaction with  her  husband's  journey  that  was  sure  to  come 
to  his  ears,  and  equally  certain  to  displease  him.  But  there 
was  no  help  for  this  domestic  dissension,  which  ended  only  with 
the  day  of  separation. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell,  with  precision,  the  year  in  which 
Sir  Philip  Forester  went  over  to  Flanders  ;  but  it  was  one  of 
those  in  which  the  campaign  opened  with  extraordinary  fury  ; 
and  many  bloody,  though  indecisive,  skirmishes  were  fought 
between  the  French  on  the  one  side,  and  the  Allies  on  the 
other.  In  all  our  modern  improvements,  there  are  none,  per- 
haps, greater  than  in  the  accuracy  and  speed  with  which  intel- 
ligence is  transmitted  from  any  scene  of  action  to  those  in  this 
country  whom  it  may  concern.  During  Marlborough's  cam- 
paigns, the  sufferings  of  the  many  who  had  relations  in,  or  along 
with,  the  army,  were  greatly  augmented  by  the  suspense  in 
which  they  were  detained  for  weeks,  after  they  had  heard  of 
bloody  battles,  in  which,  in  all  probability,  those  for  whom 
their  bosoms  throbbed  with  anxiety  had  been  personally 
engaged.  Amongst  those  who  were  most  agonized  by  this  state 
of  uncertaint}',  was  the — I  had  almost  said  deserted — wife  of 
the  gay  Sir  Philip  Forester.  A  single  letter  had  informed  her 
of  his  arrival  on  the  Continent — no  others  were  received.  One 
notice  occurred  in  the  newspapers,  in  which  Volunteer  Sir  Philip 
Forester  was  mentioned  as  having  been  entrusted  with  a 
dangerous  reconnoissance,  which  he  had  executed  with  the 
greatest  courage,  dexterity,  and  intelligence,  and  received  the 
thanks  of  the  commanding  officer.  The  sense  of  his  having 
acquired  distinction  brought  a  momentary  glow  into  the  lady's 
pale  cheek  ;  but  it  was  instantly  lost  in  ashen  whiteness  at  the 
recollection  of  his  danger.  After  this,  they  had  no  news 
whatever,  neither  from  Sir  Philip,  nor  even  from  their  brother 
Falconer.  The  case  of  Lady  Forester  was  not  indeed  different 
from  that  of  hundreds  in  the  same  situation  ;  but  a  feeble  mind 
is  necessarily  an  irritable  one,  and  the  suspense  which  some 
bear  with  contitutional  indifference  or  philosophical  resignation, 
and  some  with  a  disposition  to  believe  and  hope  the  best,  was 
intolerable  to  Lady  Forester,  at  once  solitary  and  sensitive,  low- 
spirited,  and  devoid  of  strength  of  mind,  whether  natural  or 
acquired. 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 

As  she  received  no  further  news  of  Sir  Philip,  whether  directly 
or  indirectly,  his  unfortunate  lady  began  now  to  feel  a  sort  of 
consolation  even  in  those  careless  habits  which  had  so  often 
given  her  pain.  "  He  is  so  thoughtless,"  she  repeated  a  hundred 
times  a  day  to  her  sister,  "  he  never  writes  when  things  are  going 
on  smoothly  ;  it  is  his  way  ;  had  anything  happened  he  would 
have  informed  us." 

Lady  Bothwell  listened  to  her  sister  without  attempting  to 
console  her.  Probably  she  might  be  of  opinion,  that  even  the 
worst  intelligence  which  could  be  received  from  Flanders  might 
not  be  without  some  touch  of  consolation  ;  and  that  the  Dowager 
Lady  Forester,  if  so  she  was  doomed  to  be  called,  might  have 
a  source  of  happiness  unknown  to  the  wife  of  the  gayest  and 
finest  gentleman  in  Scotland.  This  conviction  became  stronger 
as  they  learned,  from  inquiries  made  at  head-quarters,  that 
Sir  Philip  was  no  longer  with  the  army  ;  though  whether  he 
had  been  taken  or  slain  in  some  of  those  skirmishes  which  were 
perpetually  occurring,  and  in  which  he  loved  to  distinguish  him- 
self, or  whether  he  had,  for  some  unknown  reason  or  capricious 
change  of  mind,  voluntarily  left  the  service,  none  of  his  country- 
men in  the  camp  of  the  Allies  could  form  even  a  conjecture. 
Meantime  his  creditors  at  home  became  clamorous,  entered - 
into  possession  of  his  property,  and  threatened  his  person,  should 
he  be  rash  enough  to  return  to  Scotland.  These  additional  dis- 
advantages aggravated  Lady  Bothwell's  displeasure  against  the 
fugitive  husband  ;  while  her  sister  saw  nothing  in  any  of  them, 
save  what  tended  to  increase  her  grief  for  the  absence  of  him 
whom  her  imagination  now  represented — as  it  had  before 
marriage — gallant,  gay,  and  affectionate. 

About  this  period  there  appeared  in  Edinburgh  a  man  of 
singular  appearance  and  pretensions.  He  was  commonly  called 
the  Paduan  Doctor,  from  having  received  his  education  at  that 
famous  university.  He  was  supposed  to  possess  some  rare  re- 
ceipts in  medicine,  with  which,  it  was  affirmed,  he  had  wrought 
remarkable  cures.  But  though,  on  the  one  hand,  the  physicians 
of  Edinburgh  termed  him  an  empiric,  there  were  many  persons, 
and  among  them  some  of  the  clergy,  who,  while  they  admitted 
the  truth  of  the  cures  and  the  force  of  his  remedies,  alleged 
that  Doctor  Baptista  Damiotti  made  use  of  charms  and  unlaw- 
ful arts  in  order  to  obtain  success  in  his  practice.     The  resort- 


l8  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'^  MIRROR. 

ing  to  him  was  even  solemnly  preached  against,  as  a  seeking  of 
health  from  idols,  and  a  trusting  to  the  help  which  was  to  come 
from  Egypt.  But  the  protection  which  the  Paduan  Doctor  re- 
ceived from  some  friends  of  interest  and  consequence  enabled 
him  to  set  these  imputations  at  defiance,  and  to  assume,  even 
in  the  city  of  Edinburgh,  famed  as  it  was  for  abhorrence  of 
witches  and  necromancers,  the  dangerous  character  of  an  ex- 
pounder of  futurity.  It  was  at  length  rumored  that  for  a  certain 
gratification,  which,  of  course,  was  not  an  inconsiderable  one, 
Doctor  Baptista  Damiotti  could  tell  the  fate  of  the  absent,  and 
even  show  his  visitors  the  personal  form  of  their  absent  friends, 
and  the  action  in  which  they  were  engaged  at  the  moment. 
This  rumor  came  to  the  ears  of  Lady  Forester,  who  had  reached 
that  pitch  of  mental  agony  in  which  the  sufferer  will  do  any- 
thing, or  endure  anything,  that  suspense  may  be  converted  into 
■certainty. 

Gentle  and  timid  in  most  cases,  her  state  of  mind  made  her 
equally  obstinate  and  reckless,  and  it  was  with  no  small  surprise 
and  alarm  that  her  sister.  Lady  Bothwell,  heard  her  express  a 
resolution  to  visit  this  man  of  art,  and  learn  from  him  the  fate 
of  her  husband.  Lady  Bothwell  remonstrated  on  the  improba- 
bility that  such  pretensions  as  those  of  this  foreigner  could  be 
founded  in  anything  but  imposture. 

"  I  care  not,"  said  the  deserted  wife,  '*  what  degree  of  ridi- 
cule I  may  incur  ;  if  there  be  any  one  chance  out  of  a  hundred 
that  I  may  obtain  some  certainty  of  my  husband's  fate,  I  would 
not  miss  that  chance  for  whatever  else  the  world  can  offer  me." 

Lady  Bothwell  next  urged  the  unlawfulness  of  resorting  to 
such  sources  of  forbidden  knowledge. 

"  Sister,"  replied  the  sufferer,  "  he  who  is  dying  of  thirst 
cannot  refrain  from  drinking  even  poisoned  water.  She  who 
suffers  under  suspense  must  seek  information,  even  were  the 
powers  which  offer  it  unhallowed  and  infernal.  1  go  to  learn 
my  fate  alone  ;  and  this  very  evening  will  I  know  it ;  the  sun 
that  rises  to-morrow  shall  find  me,  if  not  more  happy,  at  least 
more  resigned." 

"  Sister,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  if  you  are  determined  upon 
this  wild  step,  you  shall  not  go  alone.  If  this  man  be  an  im- 
postor, you  maybe  too  much  agitated  by  your  feelings  to  detect 
his  villany.  If,  which  I  cannot  believe,  there  be  any  truth  in 
what  he  pretends,  you  shall  not  be  exposed  alone  to  a  commu- 
nication of  so  extraordinary  a  nature.  I  will  go  with  you,  if 
indeed  you  determine  to  go.  But  yet  reconsider  your  project, 
and  renounce  inquiries  which  cannot  be  prosecuted  without 
guilt,  and  perhaps  without  danger." 


MV  A UNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR.  19 

Lady  Forester  threw  herself  into  her  sister's  arms,  and 
clasping  her  to  her  bosom,  thanked  her  a  hundred  times  for 
the  offer  of  her  company  ;  while  she  declined  with  a  melancholy 
gesture  the  friendly  advice  with  which  it  was  accompanied. 

When  the  hour  of  twilight  arrived — which  was  the  period 
when  the  Paduan  Doctor  was  understood  to  receive  the  visits 
of  those  who  came  to  consult  with  him — the  two  ladies  left 
their  apartments  in  the  Canongate  of  Edinburgh,  having  their 
dress  arranged  like  that  of  women  of  an  inferior  description, 
and  their  plaids  disposed  round  their  faces  as  they  were  worn 
by  the  same  class  :  for  in  those  days  of  aristocracy,  the  quality 
of  the  wearer  was  generally  indicated  by  the  manner  in  which 
her  plaid  was  disposed,  as  well  as  by  the  fineness  of  its  texture. 
It  was  Lady  Bothwell  who  had  suggested  this  species  of  dis- 
guise partly  to  avoid  observation  as  they  should  go  to  the 
conjurer's  house,  and  partly  in  order  to  make  trial  of  his  pene- 
tration, by  appearing  before  him  in  a  feigned  character.  Lady 
Forester's  servants,  of  tried  fidelity,  had  been  employed  by  her 
to  propitiate  the  Doctor  by  a  suitable  fee,  and  a  story  intimating 
that  a  soldier's  wife  desired  to  know  the  fate  of  her  husband ; 
a  subject  upon  which,  in  all  probability,  the  sage  was  very 
frequently  consulted. 

To  the  last  moment,  when  the  palace  clock  struck  eight.  Lady 
Bothwell  earnestly  watched  her  sister,  in  hopes  that  she  might 
retreat  from  her  rash  undertaking  ;  but  as  mildness,  and  even 
timidity,  is  capable  at  times  of  vehement  and  fixed  purposes,  she 
found  Lady  Forester  resolutely  unmoved  and  determined  when 
the  moment  of  departure  arrived.  Ill  satisfied  with  the  expedi- 
tion, but  determined  not  to  leave  her  sister  at  such  a  crisis.  Lady 
Bothwell  accompanied  Lady  Forester  through  more  than  one 
obscure  street  and  lane,  the  servant  walking  before  and  acting 
as  their  guide.  At  length  he  suddenly  turned  into  a  narrow 
court  and  knocked  at  an  arched  door,  which  seemed  to  belong 
to  a  building  of  some  antiquity.  It  opened,  though  no  one  ap- 
peared to  act  as  porter ;  and  the  servant,  stepping  aside  from 
the  entrance,  motioned  the  ladies  to  enter.  They  had  no  sooner 
done  so  than  it  shut  and  excluded  their  guide.  The  two  ladies 
found  themselves  in  a  small  vestibule,  illuminated  by  a  dim 
lamp,  and  having,  when  the  door  was  closed,  no  communication 
with  the  external  light  or  air.  The  door  of  an  inner  apartment, 
partly  open,  was  at  the  further  side  of  the  vestibule. 

"  We  must  not  hesitate  now,  Jemima,"  said  Lady  Bothwell, 
and  walked  forward  into  the  inner  room,  where,  surrounded  by 
books,  maps,  philosophical  utensils,  and  other  implements  of 
peculiar  shape  and  appearance,  they  found  the  man  of  art. 


20  Ji^y  '-^  UxVT  MARGARE  T'S  MIRROR. 

There  was  nothing  very  peculiar  in  the  Italian's  appear- 
ance. He  had  the  dark  complexion  and  marked  features  of  his 
country,  seemed  about  fifty  years  old,  and  was  handsomely,  but 
plainly,  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  black  clothes,  which  was  then 
the  universal  costume  of  the  medical  profession.  Large  wax- 
lights,  in  silver  sconces,  illuminated  the  apartment,  which  was 
reasonably  furnished.  He  rose  as  the  ladies  entered  ;  and, 
notwithstanding  the  inferiority  of  their  dress,  received  them 
with  the  marked  respect  due  to  their  quality,  and  which  foreign- 
ers are  usually  punctilious  in  rendering  to  those  to  whom  such 
honors  are  due. 

Lady  Bothwell  endeavored  to  maintain  her  proposed  incog- 
nito; and,  as  the  Doctor  ushered  them  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
room,  made  a  motion  declining  his  courtesy  as  unfitted  for 
their  condition.  "  We  are  poor  people,  sir,"  she  said  ;  "  only 
my  sister's  distress  has  brought  us  to  consult  your  worship 
whether  " 

He  smiled  as  he  interrupted  her — "  I  am  aware,  madam,  of 
your  sister's  distress,  and  its  cause  ;  I  am  aware,  also,  that  I 
am  honored  with  a  visit  from  two  ladies  of  the  highest  con- 
sideration— Lady  Bothwell  and  Lady  Forester.  If  I  could  not 
distinguish  them  from  the  class  of  society  which  their  present 
dress  would  indicate,  there  would  be  small  possibility  of  my 
being  able  to  gratify  them  by  giving  the  information  which  they 
come  to  seek." 

"  I  can  easily  understand,"  said  Lady  Bothwell 

"Pardon  my  boldness  to  interrupt  you,  milady,"  cried  the 
Italian  :  "  your  ladyship  was  about  to  say,  that  you  could  easily 
understand  that  I  had  got  possession  of  your  names  by  means 
of  your  domestic.  But  in  thinking  so,  you  do  injustice  to  the 
fidelity  of  your  servant,  and,  I  may  add,  to  the  skill  of  one  who 
is  also  not  less  your  humble  servant — Baptista  Damiotti." 

"  I  have  no  intention  to  do  either,  sir,"  said  Lady  Bothwell, 
maintaining  a  tone  of  composure,  though  somewhat  surprised, 
*'  but  the  situation  is  something  new  to  me.  If  you  know  who 
we  are,  you  also  know,  sir,  what  brought  us  here." 

"  Curiosity  to  know  the  fate  of  a  Scottish  gentleman  of  rank, 
now,  or  lately,  upon  the  Continent,"  answered  the  seer;  "his 
name  is  II  Cavaliero  Philippo  Forester  ;  a  gentleman  who  has 
the  honor  to  be  husband  to  this  lady,  and,  with  your  ladyship's 
permission,  for  using  plain  language,  the  misfortune  not  to 
value, as  it  deserves  that  inestimable  advantage." 

Lady  Forester  sighed  deeply,  and  Lady  Bothwell  replied, — 

"  Since  you  know  our  object  without  our  telling  it,  the  only 


Mr  A UJSrT  MARGA KE 7  'S  MIRROR.  2 1 

question  that  remains  is,  whether  you  have  the  power  to  relieve 
my  sister's  anxiety  ?  " 

"  I  have,  madam,"  answered  the  Paduan  scliolar ;  "  but 
there  is  still  a  previous  inquiry.  Have  you  the  courage  to  be- 
hold with  your  own  eyes  what  the  Cavaliero  Philippo  Forester 
is  now  doing  ?  or  will  you  take  it  on  my  report  ?  " 

"That  question  my  sister  must  answer  for  herself,"  said 
Lady  Bothwell. 

"  With  my  own  eyes  will  I  endure  to  see  whatever  you  have 
power  to  show  me,"  said  Lady  Forester,  with  the  same  deter- 
mined spirit  which  had  stimulated  her  since  her  resolution  was 
taken  upon  this  subject. 

"  There  may  be  danger  in  it." 

"If  gold  can  compensate  the  risk,"  said  Lad}'  Forester, 
taking  out  her  purse. 

"  I  do  not  such  things  for  the  purpose  of  gain,"  answered 
the  foreigner.  "  I  dare  not  turn  my  art  to  such  a  purpose.  If 
I  take  the  gold  of  the  wealthy,  it  is  but  to  bestow  it  on  the 
poor;  nor  do  I  ever  accept  more  than  the  sum  I  have  already 
received  from  your  servant.  Put  up  your  purse,  madam ;  an 
adept  needs  not  your  gold." 

Lady  Bothwell,  considering  this  rejection  of  her  sister's  offer 
as  a  mere  trick  of  an  empiric,  to  induce  her  to  press  a  larger  sum 
upon  him,  and  willing  that  the  scene  should  be  commenced  and 
ended,  offered  some  gold  in  turn,  observing  that  it  was  only  to 
enlarge  the  sphere  of  his  charity. 

"  Let  Lady  Bothwell  enlarge  the  sphere  of  her  own  charity," 
said  the  Paduan,  "  not  merely  in  giving  of  alms,  in  which  I  know 
she  is  not  deficient,  but  in  judging  the  character  of  others  ;  and 
let  her  oblige  Baptista  Damiotti  by  believmg  him  honest,  till 
she  shall  discover  him  to  be  a  knave.  Do  not  be  surprised, 
madam,  if  I  speak  in  answer  to  your  thoughts,  rather  than  your 
expressions,  and  tell  me  once  more  whether  you  have  courage  to 
look  on  what  I  am  prepared  to  show  ?  " 

"  I  own,  sir,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  "  that  your  words  strike 
me  with  some  sense  of  fear ;  but  whatever  my  sister  desires  to 
witness,  I  will  not  shrink  from  witnessing  along  with  her." 

'*  Nay,  the  danger  only  consists  in  the  risk  of  your  resolution 
failing  you.  The  sight  can  only  last  for  the  space  of  seven 
minutes  ;  and  should  you  interrupt  the  vision  by  speaking  a 
single  word,  not  only  would  the  charm  be  broken,  but  some 
danger  might  result  to  the  spectators.  But  if  you  can  remain 
steadily  silent  for  the  seven  minutes,  your  curiosity  will  be  grati- 
fied without  the  slightest  risk  ;  and  for  this  I  will  engage  my 
honor." 


22  AfV  A  UNT  MA  R  GA  RE  T  'S  MIRROR. 

Internally  Lady  Bothwell  thought  the  security  was  but  an 
indifferent  one  ;  but  she  suppressed  the  suspicion,  as  if  she  had 
believed  that  the  adept,  whose  dark  features  wore  a  half-formed 
smile,  could  in  reality  read  even  her  most  secret  reflections.  A 
solemn  pause  then  ensued,  until  Lady  Forester  gathered  courage 
enough  to  reply  to  the  physician,  as  he  termed  himself,  that  she 
would  abide  with  firmness  and  silence  the  sight  which  he  had 
promised  to  exhibit  to  them.  Upon  this,  he  made  them  a  low 
obeisance,  and  saying  he  went  to  prepare  matters  to  meet  their 
wish,  left  the  apartment.  The  two  sisters,  hand  in  hand,  as  if 
seeking  by  that  close  union  to  divert  any  danger  which  might 
threaten  them,  sat  down  in  two  seats  in  immediate  contact  with 
each  other  ;  Jemima  seeking  support  in  the  manly  and  habitual 
courage  of  Lady  Bothwell ;  and  she,  on  the  other  hand,  more 
agitated  than  she  had  expected,  endeavoring  to  fortify  herself 
by  the  desperate  resolution  which  circumstances  had  forced 
her  sister  to  assume.  The  one  perhaps  said  to  herself,  that  her 
sister  never  feared  anything ;  and  the  other  might  reflect,  that 
what  so  feeble  a  minded  woman  as  Jemima  did  not  fear,  could 
not  properly  be  a  subject  of  apprehension  to  a  person  of  firm- 
ness and  resolution  like  herself. 

In  a  few  moments  the  thoughts  of  both  were  diverted  from 
their  own  situation,  by  a  strain  of  music  so  singularly  sweet  and 
solemn,  that,  while  it  seemed  calculated  to  divert  or  dispel  any 
feeling  unconnected  with  its  harmony,  increased,  at  the  same 
time,  the  solemn  excitation  which  the  preceding  interview  was 
calculated  to  produce.  The  music  was  that  of  some  instrument 
with  which  they  were  unacquainted  ;  but  circumstances  after- 
ward led  my  ancestress  to  believe  that  it  was  that  of  the 
harmonica,  which  she  heard  at  a  much  later  period  in  life. 

When  these  heaven-born  sounds  had  ceased,  a  door  opened 
in  the  upper  end  of  the  apartment,  and  they  saw  Damiotti, 
standing  at  the  head  of  two  or  three  steps,  sign  to  them  to 
advance.  His  dress  was  so  different  from  that  which  he  had 
worn  a  few  minutes  before,  that  they  could  hardly  recognize 
him  ;  and  the  deadly  paleness  of  his  countenance,  and  a  certain 
stern  rigidity  of  muscles,  like  that  of  one  whose  mind  is  made  up 
to  some  strange  and  daring  action,  had  totally  changed  the  some- 
what sarcastic  expression  with  which  he  had  previously  regarded 
them  both,  and  particularly  Lady  Bothwell.  He  was  barefooted, 
excepting  a  species  of  sandals  in  the  antique  fashion  ;  his  legs 
were  naked  beneath  the  knees  ;  above  them  he  wore  hose,  and 
a  doublet  of  dark  crimson  silk  close  to  his  body ;  and  over 
that  a  flowing  loose  robe,  something  resembling  a  surplice,  of 
snow-white  linen ;    his  throat  and  neck  were  uncovered,  and 


A/y  A UNT  MARGARETS  MIRROR.  23 

his  long,  straight,  1  lack  hair,  was  carefully  combed  down  at 
full  length. 

As  the  ladies  approached  at  his  bidding,  he  showed  no  ges^ 
ture  of  that  ceremonious  courtesy  of  which  he  had  been  formerly 
lavish.  On  the  contrary,  he  made  the  signal  of  advance  with 
an  air  of  command;  and  when,  arm  in  arm,  and  with  insecure 
steps,  the  sisters  approached  the  spot  where  he  stood,  it  was 
with  a  warning  frown  that  he  pressed  his  finger  to  his  lips,  as  if 
reiterating  his  condition  of  absolute  silence,  while,  stalking 
before  them,  he  led  the  way  into  the  next  apartment. 

This  was  a  large  room,  hung  with  black,  as  if  for  a  funeral. 
At  the  upper  end  was  a  table,  or  rather  a  species  of  altar, 
covered  with  the  same  lugubrious  color,  on  which  lay  divers 
objects  resembling  the  usual  implements  of  sorcery.  These 
objects  were  not  indeed  visible  as  they  advanced  into  the  apart- 
ment ;  for  the  light  which  displayed  them,  being  only  that  of 
two  expiring  lamps,  was  extremely  faint.  The  master — to  use 
the  Italian  phrase  for  persons  of  this  description — approached 
the  upper  end  of  the  room  with  a  genuflection  like  that  of  a 
Catholic  to  the  crucifix,  and  at  the  same  time  crossed  him- 
self. The  ladies  followed  in  silence,  and  arm  in  arm.  Two  or 
three  low  broad  steps  led  to  a  platform  in  front  of  the  altar, 
or  what  resembled  such.  Here  the  sage  took  his  stand,  and 
placed  the  ladies  beside  him,  once  more  earnestly  repeating 
by  signs  his  injunctions  of  silence.  The  Italian  then,  extend- 
ing his  bare  arm  from  under  his  linen  vestment,  pointed  with 
his  forefinger  to  five  large  flambeaux,  or  torches,  placed  on 
each  side  of  the  altar.  They  took  fire  successively  at  the  ap- 
proach of  his  hand,  or  rather  of  his  finger,  and  spread  a  strong 
light  through  the  room.  By  this  the  visitors  could  discern 
that,  on  the  seeming  altar,  were  disposed  two  naked  swords 
laid  crosswise  ;  a  large  open  book,  which  they  conceived  to  be 
a  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  but  in  a  language  to  them  un- 
known ;  and  beside  this  mysterious  volume  was  placed  a  human 
skull.  But  what  struck  the  sisters  most  was  a  very  tall  and 
broad  mirror,  which  occupied  all  the  space  behind  the  altar, 
and,  illumined  by  the  lighted  torches,  reflected  the  mysterious 
articles  which  were  laid  upon  it. 

The  master  then  placed  himself  between  the  two  ladies, 
and,  pointing  to  the  mirror,  took  each  by  the  hand,  but  with- 
out speaking  a  syllable.  They  gazed  instantly  on  the  pol- 
ished and  sable  space  to  which  he  had  directed  their  attention. 
Suddenly  the  surface  assumed  a  new  and  singular  appearance. 
It  no  longer  simply  reflected  the  objects  placed  before  it,  but, 
as  if  it  had  self-contained  scenery  of  its  own,  objects  began  to 


24 


Mi  AUIVT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


appear  within  it,  at  first  in  a  disorderly,  indistinct,  and  miscel- 
laneous manner,  like  form  arranging  itself  out  of  chaos  ;  at 
length,  in  distinct  and  defined  shape  and  symmetry.  It  was 
thus  that,  after  some  shifting  of  light  and  darkness  over  the 
face  of  the  wonderful  glass,  a  long  perspective  of  arclics  and 
columns  began  to  arrange  itself  on  its  sides,  and  a  vaulted  roof 
on  the  upper  part  of  it;  till,  after  many  oscillations,  the  whole 
vision  gained  a  fixed  and  stationary  appearance  representing 
the  interior  of  a  foreign  church.  The  pillars  were  stately,  and 
hung  with  scutcheons  ;  the  arches  were  lofty  and  magnificent ; 
the  floor  was  lettered  with  funeral  inscriptions.  But  there  were 
no  separate  shrines,  no  images,  no  display  of  chalice  or  crucifix 
on  the  altar.  It  was,  therefore,  a  Protestant  church  upon  the 
Continent.  A  clergyman,  dressed  in  the  Geneva  gown  and 
band,  stood  by  the  communion-tal)le,  and,  with  the  Bible 
opened  before  him,  and  his  clerk  awaiting  in  the  background, 
seemed  prepared  to  perform  some  service  of  the  church  to 
which  he  belonged. 

At  length  there  entered  the  middle  aisle  of  the  building  a 
numerous  party,  which  appeared  to  be  a  bridal  one,  as  a  lady 
and  gentleman  walked  first,  hand  in  hand,  followed  by  a 
large  concourse  of  persons  of  both  sexes,  gayly,  nay  richly, 
attired.  The  bride,  whose  features  they  could  distinctly  see, 
seemed  not  more  than  sixteen  years  old,  and  extremely  beauti- 
ful. The  bridegroom,  for  some  seconds,  moved  rather  with  his 
shoulder  toward  them,  and  his  face  averted;  but  his  elegance 
of  form  and  step  struck  the  sisters  at  once  with  the  same  ap- 
prehension. As  he  turned  his  face  suddenly,  it  was  frightfully 
realized,  and  they  saw,  in  the  gay  bridegroom  before  them,  Sir 
Philip  Forester.  His  wife  uttered  an  imperfect  exclamation, 
at  the  sound  of  which  the  whole  scene  stirred  and  seemed  to 
separate. 

"  I  could  compare  it  to  nothing,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  while 
recounting  the  wonderful  tale,  "  but  to  the  dispersion  of  the  re- 
flection offered  by  a  deep  and  calm  pool,  when  a  stone  is  sud- 
denly cast  into  it,  and  the  shadows  become  dissipated  and 
broken."  The  master  pressed  both  the  ladies'  hands  severely, 
as  if  to  remind  them  of  their  jDromise,  and  of  the  danger 
which  they  incurred.  The  exclamation  died  away  on  Lady 
Forester's  tongue,  without  attaining  pefect  utterance,  and  the 
scene  in  the  glass,  after  the  fluctuation  of  a  minute,  again  re- 
sumed to  the  eye  its  former  appearance  of  a  real  scene,  exist- 
ing within  the  mirror,  as  if  represented  in  a  picture,  save  the 
figures  were  movable  instead  of  being  stationary. 

The  representation  of  Sir  Philip  Forester,  now  distinctly 


MV  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


25 


Visible  in  form  and  feature,  was  seen  to  lead  on  toward  the 
clergyman  that  beautiful  girl,  who  advanced  at  once  with 
diffidence,  and  with  a  species  of  affectionate  pride.  In  the 
meantime,  and  just  as  the  clergyman  had  arranged  the  bridal 
company  before  him,  and  seemed  about  to  commence  the  ser- 
vice, another  group  of  persons,  of  whom  two  or  three  were 
ofhcers,  entered  the  church.  They  moved,  at  first,  forward  a? 
thougli  they  came  to  witness  the  bridal  ceremony,  but  suddenly 
one  of  the  officers,  whose  back  was  toward  the  spectators, 
detached  himself  from  his  companions,  and  rushed  hastily  to- 
ward the  marriage  party,  when  the  whole  of  them  turned  to- 
ward him,  as  if  attracted  by  some  exclamation  which  had 
accompanied  his  advance.  Suddenly  the  intruder  drew  his 
sword ;  the  bridegroom  unsheathed  his  own,  and  made  toward 
him  ;  swords  were  also  drawn  by  other  individuals,  both  of  the 
marriage  party,  and  of  those  who  had  last  entered.  They  fell 
into  a  sort  of  confusion,  the  clergyman,  and  some  elder  and 
graver  persons,  laboring  apparently  to  keep  the  peace,  while 
the  hotter  spirits  on  both  sides  brandished  their  weapons.  But 
now  the  period  of  brief  space  during  which  the  soothsayer,  as 
he  pretended,  was  permitted  to  exhibit  his  art,  was  arrived. 
The  fumes  again  mixed  together,  and  dissolved  gradually  from 
observation  ;  the  vaults  and  columns  of  the  church  rolled 
asunder,  and  disappeared  ;  and  the  front  of  the  mirror  reflected 
nothing  save  the  blazing  torches,  and  the  melancholy  apparatus 
placed  on  the  altar  or  table  before  it. 

The  doctor  led  the  ladies,  who  greatly  required  his  support, 
into  the  apartment  from  whence  they  came ;  where  wine, 
essences,  and  other  means  of  restoring  suspended  animation, 
had  been  provided  during  his  absence.  He  motioned  them  to 
chairs,  which  they  occupied  in  silence  ;  Lady  Forester,  in  par- 
ticular, wringing  her  hands,  and  casting  her  eyes  up  to  heaven, 
but  without  speaking  a  word,  as  if  the  spell  had  been  still 
before  her  eyes. 

"And  what  we  have  seen  is  even  now  acting.''  "  said  Lady 
Pothwell,  collecting  herself  with  difficulty. 

"  That,"  answered  Baptista  Damiotti,  "  I  cannot  justly,  or  with 
certainty,  say.  But  it  is  either  now  acting,  or  has  been  acted 
during  a  short  space  before  this.  It  is  the  last  remarkable 
transaction  in   which  the  Cavalier  Forester  has  been  engaged." 

Lady  Bothwell  then  expressed  anxiety  concerning  her  sister, 
whose  altered  countenance,  and  apparent  unconsciousness  of 
what  passed  around  her,  excited  her  apprehensions  how  it 
might  be  possible  to  convey  her  home. 

*'  I  have  prepared  for  that,"  answered  the  adept ;  "  I  have 


2$  MY  AUNT  MARGARET  S  MIRROR. 

directed  the  servant  to  bring  your  equipage  as  near  tothisplac 
as  the  narrowness  of  the  street  will  permit.  Fear  not  for  youi 
sister  ;  but  give  her,  when  you  return  home,  this  composing 
draught,  and  she  will  be  belter  to-morrow  morning.  Few,"  he 
added,  in  a  melancholy  tone,  "  leave  this  house  as  well  in  health 
as  they  entered  it.  Such  being  the  consequence  of  seeking 
knowledge  by  mysterious  means,  I  leave  you  to  judge  the  con- 
dition of  those  who  have  the  power  of  gratifying  such  irregular 
curiosity.     Farewell,  and  forget  not  the  potion." 

"  I  will  give  her  nothing  that  comes  from  you,"  said  Lady 
Bothwell ;  "  I  have  seen  enough  of  your  art  already.  Perhaps 
you  would  poison  us  both  to  conceal  your  own  necromancy. 
But  we  are  persons  who  want  neither  the  means  of  making  our 
wrongs  known,  nor  the  assistance  of  friends  to  right  them." 

*'  You  have  had  no  wrongs  from  me,  madam,"  said  the  adept 
"You  sought  one  who  is  little  grateful  for  such  honor.  He 
seeks  no  one,  and  only  gives  responses  to  those  who  invite  and 
call  upon  him.  After  all,  you  have  but  learned  a  little  sooner 
the  evil  which  you  must  still  be  doomed  to  endure.  I  hear 
your  servant's  step  at  the  door,  and  will  detain  your  ladyship 
and  Lady  Forester  no  longer.  The  next  packet  from  the  Con- 
tinent will  explain  what  you  have  already  partly  witnessed. 
Let  it  not,  if  I  may  advise,  pass  too  suddenly  into  your  sister's 
hands." 

So  saying,  he  bid  Lady  Bothwell  good-night.  She  went, 
lighted  by  the  adept,  to  the  vestibule,  where  he  hastily  threw 
a  black  cloak  over  his  singular  dress,  and  opening  the  door, 
intrusted  his  visitors  to  the  care  of  the  servant.  It  was  with 
difficulty  that  Lady  Bothwell  sustained  her  sister  to  the  carriage, 
though  it  was  only  twenty  steps  distant.  When  they  arrived  at 
home.  Lady  Forester  required  medical  assistance.  The  physi- 
cian of  the  family  attended,  and  shook  his  head  on  feeling 
her  pulse. 

"  Here  has  been,"  he  said,  "  a  violent  and  sudden  shock  on 
the  ner\'es.     I  must  know  how  it  has  happened." 

Lady  Bothwell  admitted  they  had  visited  the  conjuror,  and 
that  Lady  Forester  had  received  some  bad  news  respecting  hel 
husband.  Sir  Philip. 

"  That  rascally  quack  would  make  my  fortune  were  he  to 
stay  in  Edinburgh,"  said  the  graduate;  ''this  is  the  seventh 
nervous  case  I  have  heard  of  his  making  for  me,  and  all  by 
effect  of  terror."  He  next  examined  the  composing  draught 
v/hich  Lady  Bothwell  had  unconsciously  brought  in  her  hand, 
tasted  it,  and  pronounced  it  very  germane  to  the  matter,  and 
what  would  save  an  application  to  the  apothecary.     He  then 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


27 


paused,  and  looking  at  Lady  Both'vell  very  significantly,  at 
lengtli  added,  "  I  suppose  I  must  not  ask  your  ladyship  any- 
thing about  this  Italian  warlock's  proceedings  ? " 

"Indeed,  Doctor,"  answered  Lady  Bothwell,  "  I  consider 
what  passed  as  confidential ;  and  though  the  man  may  be  a 
rogue,  yet,  as  we  were  f^oL  enough  to  consult  him,  we  should, 
I  think,  be  honest  enough  to  keep  his  counsel." 

'■'■May  be  a  knave — come,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  am  glad  to 
hear  your  ladyship  allows  such  a  possibility  in  anything  that 
comes  from  Italy." 

"What  comes  from  Italy  may  be  as  good  as  what  comes 
from  Hanover,  Doctor.  But  you  and  I  will  remain  good 
friends,  and  that  it  may  be  so,  we  will  say  nothing  of  Whig  and 
Tory." 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  Doctor,  receiving  his  fee,  and  taking  his 
hat ;  "  a  Carolus  serves  my  purpose  as  well  as  a  Willielmus. 
But  I  should  like  to  know  why  old  Lady  Saint  Ringan's,  and 
all  that  set,  go  about  wasting  their  decayed  lungs  in  pufiing 
this  foreign  fellow." 

"  Ay — you  had  best  set  him  down  a  Jesuit,  as  Scrub  says." 
On  these  terms  they  parted. 

The  poor  patient — whose  nerves,  from  an  extraordinary 
state  of  tension,  had  at  length  become  relaxed  in  as  extraordi- 
nary a  degree — continued  to  struggle  with  a  sort  of  imbecility, 
the  growth  of  superstitious  terror,  when  the  shocking  tidings 
were  brought  from  Holland,  which  fulfilled  even  her  worst 
expectations. 

They  were  sent  by  the  celebrated  Earl  of  Stair,  and  con- 
tained the  melancholy  event  of  a  duel  betwixt  Sir  Philip 
Forester  and  his  wife's  half-brother.  Captain  Falconer,  of  the 
Scotch-Dutch,  as  they  were  then  called,  in  which  the  latter  had 
been  killed.  The  cause  of  quarrel  rendered  the  incident  still 
more  shocking.  It  seemed  that  Sir  Philip  had  left  the  army 
suddenly,  in  consequence  of  being  unable  to  pay  a  very  con- 
siderable sum,  which  he  had  lost  to  another  volunteer  at  play. 
He  had  changed  his  name,  and  taken  up  his  residence  at 
Rotterdam,  where  he  had  insinuated  himself  into  the  good 
graces  of  an  ancient  and  rich  burgomaster,  and  by  his  hand» 
some  person  and  graceful  manners,  captivated  the  affections  of 
his  only  child,  a  very  young  person  of  great  beauty,  and  the 
heiress  of  much  wealth.  Delighted  with  the  specious  attrac- 
tions of  his  proposed  son-in-law,  the  wealthy  merchant — whose 
idea  of  the  British  character  was  too  high  to  admit  of  his  taking 
any  precaution  to  acquire  evidence  of  his  condition  and  cir- 
cumstances— gave  his  consent  to  the  marria<re.     It  was  about 


28  MY  A UNT  MARGARE  rs  MIRROR. 

to  be  celebrated  in  the   principal  church  of  the  city,  when  it 
was  interrupted  by  a  singular  occurrence. 

Captain  Falconer  having  been  detached  to  Rotterdam  to 
bring  up  a  part  of  the  brigade  of  Scottish  auxiliaries,  who  were 
in  quarters  there,  a  person  of  consideration  in  the  town,  to 
whom  he  had  been  formerly  known,  proposed  to  him  for  amuse- 
ment to  go  to  the  high  church,  to  see  a  countryman  of  his  own 
married  to  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  burgomaster.  Captain 
Falconer  went  accordingly,  accompanied  by  his  Dutch  acquaint- 
ance with  a  party  of  his  friends,  and  two  or  three  officers  of 
the  Scotch  brigade.  His  astonishment  may  be  conceived  when 
he  saw  his  own  brother-in-law,  a  married  man,  on  the  point  of 
leading  to  the  altar  the  innocent  and  beautiful  creature,  upon 
whom  he  was  about  to  practice  abase  and  unmanly  deceit.  He 
proclaimed  his  villainy  on  the  spot,  and  the  marriage  was  inter- 
rupted of  course.  But,  against  the  opinion  of  more  thinking 
men,  who  considered  Sir  Philip  Forester  as  having  thrown  him- 
self out  of  the  rank  of  men  of  honor.  Captain  Falconer  ad" 
mitted  him  to  the  privilege  of  such,  accepted  a  challenge  from 
him,  and  in  the  rencounter  received  a  mortal  wound.  Such  are 
the  ways  of  Heaven,  mysterious  in  our  eyes.  Lady  Forester 
never  recovered  the  shock  of  this  dismal  intelligence. 


"  And  did  this  tragedy,"  said  I,  *'  take  place  exactly  at  the 
time  when  the  scene  in  the  mirror  was  exhibited  ?  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  be  obliged  to  maim  one's  story,"  answered  my 
aunt ;  "  but,  to  speak  the  truth,  it  happened  some  days  sooner 
than  the  apparition  was  exhibited." 

"And  so  there  remained  a  possibility,"  said  I,  "that  by 
some  secret  and  speedy  communication  the  artist  might  have 
received  early  intelligence  of  that  incident." 

"  The  incredulous  pretended  so,"  replied  my  aunt. 

"  What  became  of  the  adept  ?  "  demanded  I, 

"Why,  a  warrant  came  down  shortly  afterward  to  arrest 
him  for  high  treason,  as  an  agent  of  the  Chevalier  St.  George ; 
and  Lady  Bothwell,  recollecting  the  hints  which  had  escaped 
the  Doctor,  an  ardent  friend  of  the  Protestant  succession,  did 
then  call  to  remembrance  that  this  man  was  chiefly  prbne 
among  the  ancient  matrons  of  her  own  political  persuasion.  It 
certainly  seemed  probable  that  intelligence  from  the  Continent, 
which  could  easily  have  been  transmitted  by  an  active  and 
powerful  agent,  might  have  enabled  him  to  prepare  such  a 
scene  of  phantasmagoria  as  she  had  herself  witnessed.    Yet 


MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


29 


there  were  so  many  difficulties  in  assigning  a  natural  explana- 
tion,  that,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  she  remained  in  great  doubt 
on  the  subject,  and  much  disposed  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot,  by 
admitting  the  existence  of  supernatural  agency." 

"  But,  mv  dear  aunt,"  said  I,  "  what  became  of  the  man  of 
skill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  was  too  good  a  fortune-teller  not  to  be  able  to  fore- 
see that  his  own  destiny  would  be  tragical  if  he  waited  the 
arrival  of  the  man  with  the  silver  greyhound  upon  his  sleeve. 
He  made,  as  we  say,  a  moonlight  flitting,  and  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen  or  heard  of.  Some  noise  there  was  about  papers  or 
letters  found  in  the  house,  but  it  died  away,  and  Doctor 
Baptista  Damiotti  was  soon  as  little  talked  of  as  Galen  or 
Hippocrates." 

"  And  Sir  Philip  Forester,"  said  I,  "  did  he  too  vanish  for- 
ever from  the  public  scene  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  my  kind  informer.  "  He  was  heard  of  once 
more,  and  it  was  upon  a  remarkable  occasion.  It  is  said  that 
we  Scots,  when  there  was  such  a  nation  in  existence,  have, 
among  our  full  peck  of  virtues,  one  or  two  little  barleycorns  of 
vice.  In  particular,  it  is  alleged  that  we  rarely  forgive,  and 
never  forget,  any  injuries  received  ;  that  we  used  to  make  an 
idol  of  our  resentment,  as  poor  Lady  Constance  did  of  her 
grief  ;  and  are  addicted,  as  Burns  says,  to  '  nursing  our  wrath 
to  keep  it  warm.'  Lady  Bothwell  was  not  without  this  feeling ; 
and,  I  believe,  nothing  whatever,  scarce  the  restoration  of  the 
Stuart  line,  could  have  happened  so  delicious  to  her  feelings  as 
an  opportunity  of  being  revenged  on  Sir  Philip  Forester,  for 
the  deep  and  double  injury  which  had  deprived  her  of  a  sister 
and  of  a  brother.  But  nothing  of  him  was  heard  or  known  till 
many  a  year  had  passed  away." 

At  length — it  was  on  a  Fastern's  E'en  (Shrovetide)  assembly 
at  which  the  whole  fashion  of  Edinburgh  attended,  full  and 
frequent,  and  when  Lady  Bothwell  had  a  seat  amongst  the  lady 
patronesses,  that  one  of  the  attendants  on  the  company  whis- 
pered into  her  ear,  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  speak  with  her 
in  private. 

"In  private  ?  and  in  an  assembly-room  ? — he  must  be  mad 
• — Tell  him  to  call  upon  me  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  said  so,  my  lady,"  answered  the  man  ;  "  but  he  desired 
me  to  give  you  this  paper." 

She  undid  the  billet,  which  was  curiously  folded  and  sealed. 
It  only  bore  the  words,  "  On  business  of  life  and  death"  written 
in  a  hand  which  she  had  never  seen  before.  Suddenly  it  occurred 
to  her,  that  it  might  concern  the  safety  of  some  of  her  poUticaJ 


3©  ^^y  ^4 UNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

friends  ;  she  therefore  followed  the  messenger  to  a  small 
apartment  where  the  refreshments  were  prepared,  and  from 
which  the  general  company  was  excluded.  She  found  an  old 
man,  who,  at  her  approach,  rose  up  and  bowed  profoundly. 
His  appearance  indicated  a  broken  constitution  ;  and  his  dress, 
though  sedulously  rendered  conforming  to  the  etiquette  of  a 
ball-room,  was  worn  and  tarnished,  and  hung  in  folds  about  his 
emaciated  person.  Lady  Bothwell  was  about  to  feel  for  her 
purse,  expecting  to  get  rid  of  the  supplicant  at  the  expense  of 
a  little  money,  but  some  fear  of  a  mistake  arrested  her  purpose. 
She  therefore  gave  the  man  leisure  to  explain  himself. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  speak  with  the  Lady  Bothwell  ?  " 

"  I  am  Lady  Bothwell  ;  allow-  me  to  say,  that  this  is  no  time 
or  place  for  long  explanations. — What  are  your  commands  with 
me  ?  " 

"  Your  ladyship,"  said  the  old  man,  "  had  once  a  sister." 

"  True  ;  whom  I  loved  as  my  own  soul." 

"  And  a  brother." 

*'  The  bravest,  the  kindest,  the  most  affectionate  !  "  said 
Lady  Bothwell. 

"  Both  these  beloved  relatives  you  lost  by  the  fault  of  an  un- 
fortunate man,"  continued  the  stranger. 

"  By  the  crimes  of  an  unnatural,  bloody-minded  murderer," 
said  the  lady. 

"  I  am  answered,"  replied  the  old  man,  bowing,  as  if  to  with- 
draw. 

"  Stop,  sir,  I  command  you,"  said  Lady  Bothwell. — "  Who 
are  you,  that,  at  such  a  place  and  time,  come  to  recall  these 
horrible  recollections  ?     I  insist  upon  knowing." 

*'  I  am  one  who  intends  Lady  Bothwell  no  injury  ;  but,  on 
(he  contrary,  to  offer  her  the  means  of  doing  a  deed  of  Christian 
charity,  which  the  world  would  wonder  at,  and  which  Heaven 
would  reward  ;  but  I  find  her  in  no  temper  for  such  a  sacrifice 
fl.s  I  was  prepared  to  ask." 

"  Speak  out,  sir  ;  what  is  your  mea^^ing  ?  "  said  Lady  Both- 
well. 

"  The  wretch  that  has  wronged  you  so  deeply,"  rejoined  the 
stranger,  "  is  now  on  his  death-bed.  His  days  have  been  days 
of  misery,  his  nights  have  been  sleepless  hours  of  anguish — yet 
he  cannot  die  without  your  forgiveness.  His  life  has  been  an 
unremitting  penance — yet  he  dares  not  part  from  his  burden 
while  your  curses  load  his  soul." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Lady  Bothwell,  sternly,  "  to  ask  pardon 
of  that  Being  whom  he  has  so  greatly  offended  ;  not  of  an  erring 
mortal  like  himself.     What  could  my  forgiveness  avail  him  ?  " 


MV  A  UNT  MA RGARE  r\S  AflRROK.  ^f 

'*  Much,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  It  will  be  an  earnest  oi 
that  which  he  may  then  venture  to  ask  from  his  Creator,  lady, 
and  from  yours.  Remember,  Lady  Bothwell,  you  too  have  a 
death-bed  to  look  forward  to  ;  your  soul  may,  all  human  souls 
must,  feel  the  awe  of  facing  the  judgment-seat,  with  the 
wounds  of  an  untented  conscience,  raw,  and  rankling — what 
thought  would  it  be  then  that  should  whisper,  'I  have  given  no 
mercy,  how  then  shall  I  ask  it  ?  '  " 

"  Man,  whosoever  thou  may'st  be,"  replied  Lady  Bothwel!, 
"  urge  me  not  so  cruelly.  It  would  be  but  blasphemous  hypocrisy 
to  utter  with  my  lips  the  words  which  every  throb  of  my  heart 
protests  against.  They  would  open  the  earth  and  give  to  light 
the  wasted  form  of  my  sister — the  bloody  form  of  my  murdered 
brother — forgive  him  ? — Never,  never  !  " 

"  Great  God  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  holding  up  his  hands, 
"  is  it  thus  the  worms  which  thou  hast  called  out  of  dust  obey 
the  commands  of  their  Maker  ?  Farewell,  proud  and  unfor- 
giving woman.  Exult  that  thou  hast  added  to  a  death  in  want 
and  pain  the  agonies  of  religious  despair;  but  never  again 
mock  Heaven  by  petitioning  for  the  pardon  which  thou  hast 
refused  to  grant." 

He  was  turning  from  her. 

"  Stop,"  she  exclaimed ;  I  will  try ;  yes,  I  will  try  to  pardon 
him." 

"  Gracious  lady,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  will  relieve  the 
over-burdened  soul,  which  dare  not  sever  itself  from  its  sinful 
companion  of  earth  without  being  at  peace  with  you.  What  do 
I  know — your  forgiveness  may  perhaps  preserve  for  penitence 
the  dregs  of  a  wretched  life." 

"  Ha!  "  said  the  lady,  as  a  sudden  light  broke  on  her,  "it 
is  the  villain  himself  !  "  And  grasping  Sir  Philip  Forester — for 
it  was  he,  and  no  other — by  the  collar,  she  raised  a  cry  of 
"  Murder,  murder  !     Seize  the  murderer  !  " 

At  an  exclamation  so  singular,  in  such  a  place,  the  company 
thronged  into  the  apartment,  but  Sir  Philip  Forester  was  no 
longer  there.  Fie  had  forcibly  extricated  himself  from  Lady 
Bothwell's  hold,  and  had  run  out  of  the  apartment  which 
opened  on  the  landing-place  of  the  stair.  There  seemed  no 
escape  in  that  direction,  for  there  were  several  persons  coming 
up  the  steps,  and  others  descending.  But  the  unfortunate 
man  was  desperate.  He  threw  himself  over  the  balustrade,  and 
alighted  safely  in  the  lobby,  though  a  leap  of  fifteen  feet  at 
least,  then  dashed  into  the  street,  and  was  lost  in  darkness. 
Some  of  the  Bothwell  family  made  pursuit,  and,  had  they  come 
up  with  the  fugitive,  they  might  have  perhaps  slain  him ;  for  in 


32 


Aiy  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 


those  days  men's  blood  ran  warm  in  their  veins.  But  the 
police  did  not  interfere  ;  the  matter  most  criminal  having  hap- 
pened long  since,  and  in  a  foreign  land.  Indeed,  it  was  always 
thought,  that  this  extraordinary  scene  originated  in  a  hypo- 
critical experiment,  by  which  Sir  Philip  desired  to  ascertain 
whether  he  might  return  to  his  native  country  in  safety  from 
the  resentment  of  a  family  which  he  had  injured  so  deeply. 
As  the  result  fell  out  so  contrary  to  his  wishes,  he  is  believed 
to  have  returned  to  the  Continent,  and  there  died  in  exile. 
So  closed  the  tale  of  the  Mysterious  Mirror, 


THE   TAPESTRIED   CHAMBER; 

OR, 

THE  LADY  IN  THE  SACQUE. 


INTR  OD  UCTION. 

This  is  another  little  story  from  the  Keepsake  of  i?>2%.  It  was 
told  to  vie  many  years  ago,  by  the  late  Miss  Anna  Seward,  ivho, 
among  other  accomplishments  that  rcfidered  her  an  amusing  iiwiate 
in  a  cotcntry  house,  had  that  of  recoimting  narratives  of  this  sort 
with  very  considerable  effect  ;  ttiuch  greater,  indeed,  than  afiy  one 
would  be  apt  to  guess  fr07fi  the  style  of  her  written  performances. 
There  are  hours  and  moods  when  most  people  are  not  displeased  to 
listen  to  such  things  ;  and  I  have  heard  some  of  the  greatest  and 
wisest  of  my  contemporaries  take  their  share  in  telVmg  them. 

August  1831. 


The  following  narrative  is  given  from  the  pen,  so  far  as 
memor}'  permits,  in  the  same  character  in  which  it  was  pre- 
sented to  the  author's  ear;  nor  has  he  claim  to  further  praise, 
or  to  be  more  deeply  censured,  than  in  proportion  to  the  good 
or  bad  judgment  which  he  has  employed  in  selecting  his 
materials,  as  he  has  studiously  avoided  any  attempt  at  orna- 
ment, which  might  interfere  with  the  simplicity  of  the  tale. 

At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  particular 
class  of  stories  w'hich  turns  on  the  marvelous,  possesses  a 
stronger  influence  when  told  than  when  committed  to  print. 
The  volume  taken  up  at  noonday,  though  rehearsing  the  same 
incidents,  conveys  a  much  more  feeble  impression  than  is 
achieved  by  the  voice  of  the  speaker  on  a  circle  of  fireside 
auditors,  who  hang  upon  the  narrative  as  the  narrator  details 
the  minute  incidents  which  serve  to  give  it  authenticity,  and 


34  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 

lowers  his  voice  with  an  affectation  of  mystery  while  he  aj> 
proaches  the  fearful  and  wonderful  part.  It  was  with  such 
advantages  that  the  present  writer  heard  the  following  events 
related,  more  than  twenty  years  since,  by  the  celebrated  Miss 
Seward,  of  Litchfield,  who  to  her  numerous  accomplishments, 
added,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  the  power  of  narrative  in 
private  conversation.  In  its  present  form,  the  tale  must  neces- 
sarily lose  all  the  interest  which  was  attached  to  it  by  the  licxi- 
hie  voice  and  intelligent  features  of  the  gifted  narrator.  Yet 
still,  read  aloud,  to  an  undoubting  audience  by  the  doubtful 
light  of  the  closing  evening,  or  in  silence,  by  the  decaying  taper, 
and  amidst  the  solitude  of  a  half-lighted  apartment,  it  may 
redeem  its  character  as  a  good  ghost  story.  Miss  Seward 
always  affirmed  that  she  had  derived  her  information  from  an 
authentic  source,  although  she  suppressed  the  names  of  the 
two  persons  chiefly  concerned.  I  will  not  avail  myself  of  any 
particulars  I  may  have  since  received  concerning  the  localities 
of  the  detail,  but  suffer  them  to  rest  under  the  same  general 
description  in  which  they  were  first  related  to  me;  and,  for  the 
same  reason,  I  will  not  add  to  or  diminish  the  narrative,  by  any 
circumstances,  whether  more  or  less  material,  but  simply  re- 
hearse, as  I  heard  it,  a  story  of  supernatural  terror. 

About  the  end  of  the  American  war,  when  the  officers  of 
Lord  Cornwallis's  army,  which  surrendered  at  Yorktown,  and 
others,  who  had  been  made  prisoners  during  the  impolitic  and 
ill-fated  controversy,  were  returning  to  their  own  country,  to 
relate  their  adventures,  and  repose  themselves  after  their 
fatigues  ;  there  was  amongst  them  a  general  officer,  to  whom 
Miss  S.  gave  the  name  of  Browne,  but  merely,  as  I  understood, 
to  save  the  inconvenience  of  introducing  a  nameless  agent  in 
the  narrative.  He  was  an  officer  of  merit,  as  well  as  a  gentle- 
man of  high  consideration  for  family  and  attainments. 

Some  business  had  carried  General  Browne  upon  a  tour 
through  the  western  counties,  when,  in  the  conclusion  of  a 
morning  stage,  he  found  himself  in  the  vicinity  of  a  small 
country  town,  which  presented  a  scene  of  uncommon  beauty, 
and  of  a  character  peculiarly  English. 

The  little  town,  with  its  stately  old  church,  whose  tower  bore 
testimony  to  the  devotion  of  ages  long  past,  lay  amidst  pasture 
and  corn-fields  of  small  extent,  but  bounded  and  divided  with 
hedge-row  timber  of  great  age  and  size.  There  were  few  marks 
of  modern  improvement.  The  environs  of  the  place  intimated 
neither  the  solitude  of  decay,  nor  the  bustle  of  novelty  ;  the 
houses   were  old,  but  in  good   repair  ;  and  the  beautiful  little 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER.  35 

river  murmured  freely  on  its  way  to  the  left  of  the  town,  neither 
restrained  by  a  dam,  nor  bordered  by  a  towing-path. 

Upon  a  gentle  eminence,  nearly  a  mile  to  the  southward  of 
the  town,  were  seen,  amongst  many  venerable  oaks  and  tangled 
thickets,  the  turrets  of  a  castle,  as  old  as  the  wars  of  York  and 
Lancaster,  but  which  seemed  to  have  received  important  alter- 
ations during  the  age  of  Elizabeth  and  her  successors.  It  had 
not  been  a  place  of  great  size  ;  but  whatever  accommodation  it 
formerly  afforded,  was,  it  must  be  supposed,  still  to  be  obtained 
within  its  walls  ;  at  least,  such  was  the  inference  which  General 
Browne  drew  from  observing  the  smoke  arise  merrily  from 
several  of  the  ancient  wreathed  and  carved  chimney-stalks. 
The  wall  of  the  park  ran  alongside  of  the  highway  for  two  or 
three  hundred  yards  ;  and  through  the  different  points  by  which 
the  eye  found  glimpses  into  the  woodland  scenery,  it  seemed  to 
be  well  stocked.  Other  points  of  view  opened  in  succession  ; 
now  a  full  one,  of  the  front  of  the  old  castle,  and  now  a  side 
glimpse  at  its  particular  towers ;  the  former  rich  in  all  the 
bizarrerie  of  the  Elizabethan  school,  while  the  simple  and  solid 
strength  of  other  parts  of  the  building  seemed  to  show  that  they 
had  been  raised  more  for  defence  than  ostentation. 

Delighted  with  the  partial  glimpses  which  he  obtained  of 
the  castle  through  the  woods  and  glades  by  which  this  ancient 
feudal  fortress  was  surrounded,  our  military  traveler  was 
determined  to  inquire  whether  it  might  not  deserve  a  nearer 
view,  and  whether  it  contained  family  pictures  or  other  objects 
of  curiosity  worthy  of  a  stranger's  visit ;  when,  leaving  the 
vicinity  of  the  park,  he  rolled  through  a  clean  and  well-paved 
street,  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  well-frequented  inn.     - 

Before  ordering  horses  to  proceed  on  his  journey,  General 
Browne  made  inquiries  concerning  the  proprietor  of  the  chateau 
which  had  so  attracted  his  admiration,  and  was  equally  sur- 
prised and  pleased  at  hearing  in  reply  a  nobleman  named  whom 
we  shall  call  Lord  Woodville.  How  fortunate !  Much  of 
Browne's  early  recollections,  both  at  school  and  at  college,  had 
been  connected  with  young  Woodville,  whom,  by  a  few  ques- 
tions, he  now  ascertained  to  be  the  same  with  the  owner  of 
this  fair  domain.  He  had  been  raised  to  the  peerage  by  the 
decease  of  his  father  a  few  months  before,  and  as  the  General 
learned  from  the  landlord,  the  term  of  mourning  being  ended, 
was  now  taking  possession  of  his  paternal  estate,  in  the  jovial 
season  of  merry  autumn,  accompanied  by  a  select  party  of 
friends  to  enjoy  the  sports  of  a  country  famous  for  game. 

This  was  delightful  news  to  our  traveler.  Frank  Woodville 
had  been  Richard  Browne's  fag  at  Eton,  and  his  chosen  inti 


36  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 

mate  at  Christ  Church  ;  their  pleasures  and  their  tasks  had 
been  the  same  ;  and  the  honest  soldier's  heart  warmed  to  find 
his  early  friend  in  possession  of  so  delightful  a  residence,  and 
of  an  estate,  as  the  landlord  assured  him  with  a  nod  and  a 
wink,  fully  adequate  to  maintain  and  add  to  his  dignity. 
Nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  the  traveler  should 
suspend  a  journey,  which  there  was  nothing  to  render  hurried, 
to  pay  a  visit  to  an  old  friend  under  such  agreeable  circunv 
stances. 

The  fresh  horses,  therefore,  had  only  the  brief  task  of  con- 
veying the  General's  traveling  carriage  to  VVoodville  Castle. 
A  porter  admitted  them  at  a  modern  Gothic  lodge,  built  in 
that  style  to  correspond  with  the  Castle  itself,  and  at  the  same 
time  rang  a  bell  to  give  warning  of  the  approach  of  visitors. 
Apparently  the  sound  of  the  bell  had  suspended  the  separation 
of  the  company,  bent  on  the  various  amusements  of  the  morn- 
ing; for,  on  entering  the  court  of  the  chateau,  several  young 
men  were  lounging  about  in  their  sporting  dresses,  looking  at, 
and  criticising,  the  dogs  which  the  keepers  held  in  readiness  to 
attend  their  pastime.  As  General  Browne  alighted,  the  young 
lord  came  to  the  gate  of  the  hall,  and  for  an  instant  gazed,  as 
at  a  stranger,  upon  the  countenance  of  his  friend,  on  which 
war,  with  its  fatigues  and  its  wounds,  had  made  a  great  alter- 
ation. But  the  uncertainty  lasted  no  longer  than  till  the 
visitor  had  spoken,  and  the  hearty  greeting  which  followed 
was  such  as  can  only  be  exchanged  betwixt  those  who  have 
passed  together  the  merry  days  of  careless  boyhood  or  early 
youth. 

"  If  I  could  have  formed  a  wish,  my  dear  Browne,"  said  Lord 
Woodville,  "  it  would  have  been  to  have  you  here,  of  all  men, 
upon  this  occasion,  which  my  friends  are  good  enough  to  hold 
as  a  sort  of  holiday.  Do  not  think  you  have  been  unvvatched 
during  the  years  you  have  been  absent  from  us.  I  have  traced 
you  through  your  dangers,  your  triumphs,  your  misfortunes,  and 
was  delighted  to  see  that,  whether  in  victory  or  defeat,  the  name 
of  my  old  friend  was  always  distinguished  with  applause  " 

The  General  made  a  suitable  reply,  and  congratulated  his 
friend  on  his  new  dignities,  and  the  possession  of  a  place  and 
domain  so  beautiful. 

"  Nay,  you  have  seen  nothing  of  it  as  yet,"  said  Lord  Wood' 
ville,  "  and  I  trust  you  do  not  mean  to  leave  us  till  you  are 
better  acquainted  with  it.  It  is  true,  I  confess,  that  my  present 
party  is  pretty  large,  and  the  old  house,  like  other  places  of  the 
kind,  does  not  possess  so  much  accommodation  as  the  extent 
of  the  outward  walls  appears  to  promise.     But  we  can  give  you 


THE  TATESTKIED  CHAMBER. 


37 


a  comfortable  old-fashioned  room  ;  and  I  venture  to  suppose 
that  your  campaigns  have  taught  you  to  be  glad  of  worse 
quarters." 

The  General  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed.  "  I  pre- 
sume," he  said,  •'  the  worst  apartment  in  your  chateau  is  con- 
siderably superior  to  the  old  tobacco-cask,  in  which  1  was  fain 
to  take  up  my  night's  lodging  when  I  was  in  the  Bush,  as  the 
Virginians  call  it,  with  the  light  corps,  Then^  I  lay,  like  Dioge- 
nes himself,  so  delighted  with  my  covering  from  the  elements, 
that  I  made  a  vain  attempt  to  have  it  rolled  on  to  my  next 
quarters  ;  but  my  commander  for  the  time  would  give  way  tc 
no  such  luxurious  provision,  and  I  took  farewell  of  my  beloved 
cask  with  tears  in  my  eyes." 

"  Well,  then,  since  you  do  not  fear  your  quarters,"  said  Lord 
Woodville,  "  you  will  stay  with  me  a  week  at  least.  Of  guns, 
dogs,  fishing  rods,  flies,  and  means  of  sport  by  sea  and  land,  we 
have  enough  and  to  spare  :  you  cannot  pitch  on  an  amusement, 
but  we  will  pitch  on  the  means  of  pursuing  it.  But  if  you  pre- 
fer the  gun  and  pointers,  I  will  go  with  you  myself,  and  see 
whether  you  have  mended  your  shooting  since  you  have  been 
amongst  the  Indians  of  the  back  settlements." 

The  General  gladly  accepted  his  friendly  host's  proposal  in 
all  its  points.  After  a  morning  of  manl}' exercise,  the  company 
met  at  dinner,  where  it  was  the  delight  of  Lord  Woodville  to 
conduce  to  the  display  of  the  high  properties  of  his  recovered 
friend,  so  as  to  recommend  him  to  his  guests,  most  of  whom  were 
persons  of  distinction.  He  led  General  Browne  to  speak  of 
the  scenes  he  had  witnessed  ;  and  as  every  word  marked  alike 
the  brave  officer  and  the  sensible  man,  who  retained  possession 
of  his  cool  judgment  under  the  most  imminent  dangers,  the 
company  looked  upon  the  soldier  with  general  respect,  as  on 
one  who  had  proved  himself  possessed  of  an  uncommon  portion 
of  personal  courage — that  attribute,  of  all  other  which  every 
body  desires  to  be  thought  possessed. 

The  day  at  Woodville  Castle  ended  as  usual  in  such  mansions. 
The  hospitality  stopped  within  the  limits  of  good  order  ;  music, 
in  which  the  young  lord  was  a  proficient,  succeeded  to  the  circu- 
lation of  the  bottle  :  cards  and  billiards,  for  those  who  preferred 
such  amusements,  were  in  readiness  :  but  the  exercise  of  the 
morning  required  early  hours,  and  not  long  after  eleven  o'clock 
the  guests  began  to  retire  to  their  several  apartments. 

The  young  lord  himself  conducted  his  friend,  General  Browne, 
to  the  cliamber  destined  for  him,  which  answered  the  descrip- 
tion he  had  given  of  it,  being  comfortable,  but  old-fashioned. 
The  bed  was  of  the  massive  form  used  in  the  end  of  the  seveo 


^8  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 

teentn  century,  and  the  curtains  of  faded  silk,  heavily  trimmed 
with  tarnished  gold.  But  then  the  sheets,  pillows,  and  blankets 
looked  delightful  to  the  campaigner,  when  he  thought  of  his 
mansion,  the  cask.  There  was  an  air  of  gloom  in  the  tapestry 
hangings,  which,  with  their  worn-out  graces,  curtained  the  walls 
of  the  little  chamber,  and  gently  undulated  as  the  autumnal 
breeze  found  its  way  through  the  ancient  lattice-window,  which 
pattered  and  whistled  as  the  air  gained  entrance.  The  toilet 
too,  with  its  mirror,  turbaned,  after  the  manner  of  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century,  with  a  coiffure  of  murrey-colored  silk,  and 
its  hundred  strange-shaped  boxes,  providing  for  arrangements 
which  had  been  obsolete  for  more  than  fifty  years,  had  an  an- 
tique, and  in  so  far  a  melancholy,  aspect.  But  nothing  could 
blaze  more  brightly  and  cheerfully  than  the  two  large  wax 
candles  ;  or  if  aught  could  rival  them,  it  was  the  flaming  bicker- 
ing fagots  in  the  chimney,  that  sent  at  once  their  gleam  and 
their  warmth  through  the  snug  apartment ;  which,  notwithstand- 
ing the  general  antiquity  of  its  appearance,  was  not  wanting  in 
the  least  convenience  that  modern  habits  rendered  either  neces- 
sary or  desirable. 

"  This  is  an  old-fashioned  sleeping  apartment.  General,' 
said  the  young  lord  ;  "  but  I   hope  you  will  find  nothing  that 
makes  you  envy  your  old  tobacco-cask." 

"  I  am  not  particular  repecting  my  lodgings,"  replied  the 
General  ;  "  yet,  were  I  to  make  any  choice,  I  would  prefer  this 
chamber  by  many  degrees,  to  the  gayer  and  more  modern 
rooms  of  your  family  mansion.  Believe  me,  that  when  I  unite 
its  modern  air  of  comfort  with  its  venerable  antiquity,  and  rec- 
ollect that  it  is  your  lordship's  property,  I  shall  feel  in  belter 
quarters  here,  than  if  I  were  in  the  best  hotel  London  could 
afford." 

"  I  trust — I  have  no  doubt — that  you  will  find  yourself  as 
comfortable  as  I  wish  you,  my  dear  General,"  said  the  young 
nobleman  ;  and  once  more  bidding  his  guest  good-night,  he 
shook  him  by  the  hand  and  withdrew. 

The  General  again  looked  round  him,  and  internally  con- 
gratulating himself  on  his  return  to  peaceful  life,  the  comforts 
of  which  were  endeared  by  thj  recollection  of  the  hardships  and 
dangers  he  had  lately  sustained,  undressed  himself,  and  pre- 
pared himself  for  a  luxurious  night's  rest. 

Here  contrary  to  the  custom  of  this  species  of  tale,  we  leave 
the  General  in  possession  of  his  apartment  until  the  next 
morning. 

The  company  assembled  for  breakfast  at  an  early  hour,  but 
without  the    appearence  of  General  Browne,  who  seemed  the 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER.  39 

guest  that  Lord  Woodville  was  desirous  of  honoring  above  all 
whom  his  hospitality  had  assembled  around  him.  He  more 
than  once  expressed  surprise  at  the  General's  absence,  and  at 
length  sent  a  servant  to  make  inquiry  after  him.  The  man 
brought  back  information  that  General  Browne  had  been  walk- 
ing abroad  since  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  in  defiance  of 
the  weather,  wliich  was  misty  and  ungenial. 

"  The  custom  of  a  soldier," — said  the  young  nobleman  to  his 
friends  ;  "  many  of  them  acquire  habitual  vigilance,  and  can- 
not sleep  after  the  early  hour  at  which  their  duty  usually  com- 
mands them  to  be  alert." 

Yet  the  explanation  which  Lord  Woodville  thus  offered  to 
the  company  seemed  hardly  satisfactory  to  his  own  mind,  and 
it  was  in  a  fit  of  silence  and  abstraction  that  he  awaited  the  re- 
turn of  the  General.  It  took  place  near  an  hour  after  the  break- 
fast-bell had  rung.  He  looked  fatigued  and  feverish.  His 
hair,  the  powdering  and  arrangement  of  which  was  at  this  time 
one  of  the  most  important  occupations  of  a  man's  whole  day, 
and  marked  his  fashion  as  much  as,  in  the  present  time,  the  ty- 
ing of  a  cravat,  or  the  want  of  one,  was  disheveled,  uncurled, 
void  of  powder,  and  dank  with  dew.  His  clothes  were  huddled 
on  with  a  careless  negligence,  remarkable  in  a  military  man, 
whose  real  or  supposed  duties  are  usually  held  to  include  some 
attention  to  the  toilet ;  and  his  looks  were  haggard  and  ghastly 
in  a  peculiar  degree. 

"  So  you  have  stolen  a  march  upon  us  this  morning,  my  dear 
General,"  said  Lord  Woodville  ;  "or  you  have  not  found  your 
bed  so  much  to  your  mind  as  I  had  hoped  and  you  seemed  to 
expect.     How  did  you  rest  last  night .''  " 

"Oh,  excellently  well !  remarkably  well !  never  better  in  my 
life" — said  General  Browne  rapidly,  and  yet  with  an  air  of 
embarrassment  which  was  obvious  to  his  friend.  He  then 
hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  neglecting  or  refusing 
whatever  else  was  offered,  seemed  to  fall  into  a  fit  of  abstrac- 
tion. 

"  You  will  take  the  gun  to-day.  General ;"  said  his  friend 
and  host,  but  had  to  repeat  the  question  twice  ere  he  received 
the  abrupt  answer,  "  No,  my  lord  ;  T  am  sorry  I  cannot  have  the 
honor  of  spending  another  day  with  your  lordship  ;  my  post 
horses  are  ordered,  and  will  be  here  directly." 

All  who  were  present  showed  surprise,  and  Lord  Wood- 
ville immediately  replied,  "  Post  horses,  my  good  friend  !  what 
can  you  possibly  want  with  them,  when  you  promised  to  stay 
with  me  quietly  for  at  least  a  week  ?  " 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  Genera!,  obviously  much  embarrassed, 


40 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CI/AM  TEA'. 


"that  I  niight,  in  the  pleasure  of  my  first  meeting  with  youi 
lordship,  have  said  something  about  stopping  here  a  few  days; 
but  I  have  since  found  it  altogether  impossible." 

"  That  is  very  extraordinary,"  answered  the  young  nob'e- 
man.  "  You  seemed  quite  disengaged  yesterday,  and  you  can- 
not have  had  a  summons  to-day ;  for  our  post  has  not  come  up 
from  the  town,  and  therefore  you  cannot  have  received  any 
letters." 

General  Browne,  without  giving  any  further  explanation, 
muttered  something  of  indispensable  business,  and  insisted  on 
the  absolute  necessity  of  his  departure  in  a  manner  which 
silenced  all  opposition  on  the  part  of  his  host,  w'ho  saw  that  his 
resolution  was  taken,  and  forebore  further  importunity. 

"  At  least,  however,"  he  said,  "  permit  me,  my  dear  Browne, 
since  go  you  will  or  must,  to  show  you  the  view  from  the  ter- 
race, which  the  mist,  that  is  now  rising,  will  soon  display." 

He  threw  open  a  sash  window,  and  stepped  down  upon  the 
terrace  as  he  spoke.  The  General  followed  him  mechanically, 
but  seemed  little  to  attend  to  what  his  host  was  saying,  as, 
looking  across  an  extended  and  rich  prospect,  he  pointed  out 
the  different  object;  worthy  of  observation.  Thus  they  moved 
on  till  Lord  Woodvi.Ie  had  attained  his  purpose  of  drawing  his 
guest  entirely  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  when,  turn- 
ing round  upon  him  with  an  air  of  great  solemnity,  he  addressed 
him  thus  : — 

"  Richard  Browne,  my  old  and  very  dear  friend,  we  are  now 
alone.  Let  me  conjure  you  to  answer  me  upon  the  word  of  a 
friend,  and  the  honor  of  a  soldier.  How  did  you  in  reality 
rest  during  last  night .-'  " 

"  Most  wretchedly  indeed,  my  lord,"  answered  the  General 
In  the  same  tone  of  solemnity; — "so  miserably,  that  I  would 
not  run  the  risk  of  suc^  a  second  night,  not  only  for  all  the 
lands  belonging  to  this  castle,  but  for  all  the  country  which  I 
see  from  this  elevated  point  of  view." 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary,"  said  the  young  lord, as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself;  "  then  there  must  be  something  in  the  reports 
concerning  that  apartment."  Again  turning  to  the  General,  he 
said,  "  For  God's  sake,  my  dear  friend,  be  candid  with  me,  and 
let  me  know  the  disagreeable  particulars,  which  have  befallen 
you  under  a  roof,  where,  with  consent  of  the  owner,  you  should 
have  met  nothing  save  comfort." 

The  General  seemed  distressed  by  this  appeal,  and  paused  a 
moment  before  he  replied.  "  My  dear  lord,"  he  at  length  said, 
"  what  happened  to  me  last  night  is  of  a  nature  so  peculiar  and 
so  unpleasant,  that  I  could  hardly  bring  myself  to  detail  it  even 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


4X 


to  your  lordship,  were  it  not  that,  independent  of  my  wish  to 
gratify  any  request  of  yours,  I  think  that  sincerity  on  my  part 
may  lead  to  some  explanation  about  a  circumstance  equally  pain* 
ful  and  mysterious.  To  others,  the  communication  I  am 
about  to  make,  might  place  me  in  the  light  of  a  weak-minded, 
superstitious  fool,  who  suffered  his  own  imagination  to  delude 
and  bewilder  him  ;  but  you  have  known  me  in  childhood  and 
youth,  and  will  not  suspect  me  of  having  adopted  in  manhood 
the  feelings  and  frailties  from  which  my  early  years  were  free." 
Here  he  paused,  and  his  friend  replied  : — 

"  Do  not  doubt  my  perfect  confidence  in  the  truth  of  your 
communication,  however  strange  it  may  be,"  replied  Lord  Wood- 
ville  ;  "  I  know  your  firmness  of  disposition  too  well,  to  suspect 
you  could  be  made  the  object  of  imposition,  and  am  aware  that 
your  honor  and  your  friendship  will  equally  deter  you  from 
exaggerating  whatever  you  may  have  witnessed." 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  General,  "  I  will  proceed  with  my  story 
as  well  as  I  can,  relying  upon  your  candor  ;  and  yet  distinctly 
feeling  that  I  would  rather  face  a  battery  than  recall  to  my  mind 
the  odious  recollections  of  last  night." 

He  paused  a  second  time,  and  then  perceiving  that  Lord 
Woodville  remained  silent  and  in  an  attitude  of  attention,  he 
commenced  though  not  without  obvious  reluctance,  the  history 
of  his  night's  adventures  in  the  Tapes':ried  Chamber. 

"  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed,  so  soon  as  your  lordship  left 
me  yesterday  evening  ;  but  the  wood  in  the  chimney,  which 
nearly  fronted  my  bed,  blazed  brightly  and  cheerfully,  and,  aided 
by  a  hundred  exciting  recollections  of  my  childhood  and  youth 
which  had  been  recalled  by  the  unexpected  pleasure  of  meeting 
your  lordship,  prevented  me  from  falling  immediately  asleep. 
I  ought,  however,  to  say,  that  these  reflections  were  all  of  a 
pleasant  and  agreeable  kind,  grounded  on  a  sense  of  having  for 
a  time  exchanged  the  labor,  fatigues,  and  dangers  of  my  pro- 
fession, for  the  enjoyment  of  a  peaceful  life,  and  the  reunion  of 
those  friendly  and  affectionate  ties,  which  I  had  torn  asundel 
at  the  rude  summons  of  war. 

"  While  such  pleasing  reflections  were  stealing  over  my  mind, 
and  gradually  lulling  me  to  slumber,  I  was  suddenly  aroused  by 
a  sound  like  that  of  the  rustling  of  a  silken  gown,  and  the  tap- 
ping of  a  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes,  as  if  a  woman  were  walking 
in  the  apartment.  Ere  I  could  draw  the  curtain  to  see  what 
the  matter  was,  the  figure  of  a  little  woman  passed  between  the 
bed  and  the  fire.  The  back  of  this  form  was  turned  to  me,  and 
I  could  observe,  from  the  shoulders  and  neck,  that  it  was  that 
of  an  old  woman,  whose  dress  was  an  old-fashioned  gown,  which,, 


4« 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CIIAMBEK. 


I  think,  ladies  call  a  sacque  ;  that  is,  a  sort  of  robe,  completely 
loose  in  the  body,  but  gjathered  into  broad  plaits  upon  the  neck 
and  shoulders,  which  fall  down  to  the  ground,  and  terminate  in 
a  species  of  train. 

"  I  thouglit  the  intrusion  singular  enough,  but  never  harbored 
for  a  moment  the  idea  that  what  I  saw  was  anything  more  than 
the  mortal  form  of  some  old  woman  about  the  establishment, 
who  had  a  fancy  to  dress  like  her  grandmother,  and  who, 
having  perhaps  (as  your  lordship  mentioned  that  you  were  rather 
straitened  for  room)  been  dislodged  from  her  chamber  for  my 
accommodation,  had  forgotten  the  circumstance,  and  returned 
by  twelve  to  her  old  haunt.  Under  this  persuasion  I  moved  my- 
self in  bed  and  coughed  a  little,  to  make  the  intruder  sensible 
of  my  being  in  possession  of  the  premises. — She  turned  slowly 
round,  but,  gracious  heaven  !  my  lord,  what  a  countenance  did 
she  display  to  me  !  There  was  no  longer  any  question  what  she 
was,  or  any  thought  of  her  being  a  living  being.  Upon  a  face 
which  wore  the  fixed  features  of  a  corpse,  were  imprinted  the 
traces  of  the  vilest  and  most  hideous  passions  which  had  ani- 
mated her  while  she  lived.  The  body  of  some  atrocious  crimi- 
nal seemed  to  have  been  given  up  from  the  grave,  and  the  soul 
restored  from  the  penal  fire,  in  order  to  form,  for  a  space,  a 
union  with  the  ancient  accomplice  of  its  guilt.  I  started  up  in 
bed,  and  sat  upright,  supporting  myself  on  my  palms,  as  I  gazed 
on  this  horrible  spectre.  The  hag  made,  as  it  seemed,  a  single 
and  swift  stride  to  the  bed  where  I  lay,  and  squatted  herself 
down  upon  it,  in  precisely  the  same  attitude  which  I  had 
assumed  in  the  extremity  of  horror,  advancing  her  diabolical 
countenance  within  half-a-yard  of  mine,  with  a  grin  which 
seemed  to  intimate  the  malice  and  the  derision  of  an  incarnate 
fiend." 

Here  General  Browne  stopped,  and  wiped  from  his  brow  the 
cold  prespiration  with  which  the  recollection  of  his  horrible 
vision  had  covered  it. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  am  no  coward.  I  have  been  in  all 
the  mortal  dangers  incidental  to  my  profession,  and  I  may 
truly  boast,  that  no  man  every  knew  Richard  Browne  dishonor 
the  sword  he  wears  ;  but  in  these  horrible  circumstances,  under 
the  eyes,  and  as  it  seemed,  almost  in  the  grasp  of  an  incarna' 
tion  of  an  c\il  spirit,  all  firmness  forsook  me,  all  manhood 
melted  from  me  like  wax  in  the  furnace,  and  I  felt  my  hair  in> 
dividually  bristle.  The  current  of  my  life-blood  ceased  to  flow, 
and  I  sank  back  in  a  swoon,  as  very  a  victim  to  panic  terror  as 
ever  was  a  village  girl,  or  a  child  of  ten  years  old.  How  long 
I  lay  in  this  condition  I  cannot  pretend  to  guess. 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 


43 


"  But  I  was  roused  by  the  castle  clock  striking  one,  so  loud 
thnt  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  in  the  very  room.  It  was  some  time 
before  I  dared  open  my  eyes,  lest  they  should  again  encounter 
the  horrible  spectacle.  When,  however,  I  summoned  courage 
to  look  up,  she  was  no  longer  visible.  My  first  idea  was  to 
pull  my  bell,  wake  the  servants,  and  remove  to  a  garret  or  a 
hay-loft,  to  be  ensured  against  a  second  visitation.  Nay,  I  will 
confess  the  truth,  that  my  resolution  was  altered,  not  by  the 
shame  of  exposing  myself,  but  by  the  fear  that,  as  the  bell-cord 
hung  bv  the  chimnev,  I  misfht,  in  makingmy  wav  to  it,  be  asrain 
crossed  by  the  fiendish  hag,  who,  I  figured  to  myself,  might  be 
still  lurking  about  some  corner  of  the  apartment. 

"  I  will  not  pretend  to  describe  what  hot  and  cold  fever-fits 
tormented  me  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  through  broken  sleep, 
weary  vigils,  and  that  dubious  state  which  forms  the  neutral 
ground  between  them.  A  hundred  terrible  objects  appeared  to 
haunt  me ;  but  there  was  the  great  difference  betwixt  the  vision 
which  I  have  described,  and  those  which  followed  that  I  knew 
the  last  to  be  deceptions  of  my  own  fancy  and  over-excited 
nerves. 

"  Day  at  last  appeared,  and  I  rose  from  my  bed  ill  in  health 
and  humiliated  in  mind.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  as  a  man 
and  a  soldier,  and  still  more  so,  at  feeling  my  own  extreme 
desire  to  escape  from  the  haunted  apartment,  which,  however, 
conquered  all  other  considerations  ;  so  that,  huddling  on  my 
clothes  with  the  most  careless  haste,  I  made  my  escape  from 
your  lordship's  mansion,  to  seek  in  the  open  air  some  relief  to 
my  nervous  system,  shaken  as  it  was  by  this  horrible  rencounter 
with  a  visitant,  for  such  I  must  believe  her,  from  the  other 
world.  Your  lordship  has  now  heard  the  cause  of  my  discom- 
posure, and  of  my  sudden  desire  to  leave  j^our  hospitable  castle. 
In  other  places  I  trust  we  may  often  meet ;  but  God  protect 
me  from  ever  spending  a  second  night  under  that  roof !  " 

Strange  as  the  General's  tale  was,  he  spoke  with  such  a  deep 
air  of  conviction,  that  it  cut  short  all  the  usual  commentaries 
which  are  made  on  such  stories.  Lord  Woodville  never  once 
asked  him  if  he  was  sure  he  did  not  dream  of  the  apparition, 
or  suggested  any  of  the  possibilities  by  which  it  is  fashionable 
to  explain  supernatural  appearances,  as  wild  vagaries  of  the 
fancy,  or  deceptions  of  the  optic  ner\'es.  On  the  contrary,  he 
seemed  deeply  impressed  with  the  truth  and  reality  of  what  he 
had  heard ;  and,  after  a  considerable  pause,  regretted,  with 
much  appearance  of  sincerity,  that  his  early  friend  should  in 
his  house  have  suffered  so  severely. 

"  I  am  the  more  sorry  for  your  pain,  my  dear  Browne,"  he 


44  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER, 

continued,  "  that  it  is  the  unhappy,  though  most  unexpected 
result  of  anexperiment  of  my  own!  You  must  know,  that  for 
my  father  and  grandfather's  time,  at  least,  the  apartment  which 
was  assigned  to  you  last  night,  had  been  shut  on  account  of 
reports  that  it  was  disturbed  by  supernatural  sights  and  noises. 
When  I  came,  a  few  weeks  since,  into  possession  of  the  estate, 
I  thought  the  acconnnodation,  which  the  castle  afforded  for  my 
friends,  was  not  extensive  enough  to  permit  the  inhabitants  of 
the  invisible  world  to  retain  possession  of  a  comfortable  sleeping 
apartment.  I  therefore  caused  the  Tapestried  Chamber,  as  we 
call  it,  to  be  opened  ;  and  without  destroying  its  air  of  antiquity, 
I  had  such  new  articles  of  furnitures  placed  in  it  as  became  the 
modern  times.  Yet,  as  the  opinion  that  the  room  was  haunted 
very  strongly  prevailed  among  the  domestics,  and  was  also  known 
in  the  neighborhood  and  to  many  of  my  friends,  I  feared  some 
prejudice  might  be  entertained  by  the  first  occupant  of  the 
Tapestried  Chamber,  which  might  tend  to  revive  the  evil  report 
which  it  had  labored  under,  and  so  disappoint  my  purpose  of 
rendering  it  a  useful  part  of  the  house.  I  must  confess,  my  dear 
Browne,  that  your  arrival  yesterday,  agreeable  to  me  for  a 
thousand  reasons  besides,  seemed  the  most  favorable  oppor- 
tunity of  removing  the  unpleasant  rumors  which  attached  to 
the  room,  since  your  courage  was  indubitable,  and  your  mind 
free  of  any  pre-occupation  on  the  subject.  I  could  not,  there- 
fore, have  chosen  a  more  fitting  subject  for  my  experiment. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  said  General  Browne,  somewhat  hastily, 
"  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  your  lordship — very  particularly 
indebted  indeed.  I  am  likely  to  remember  for  some  time  the 
consequences  of  the  experiment,  as  your  lordship  is  pleased  to 
call  it." 

"  Nay,  now  you  are  unjust,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Lord  Wood- 
ville.  "  You  have  only  to  reflect  for  a  single  moment,  in  order 
to  be  convinced  that  I  could  not  augur  the  possibility  of  the  pain 
to  which  you  have  been  so  unhappily  exposed.  I  was  yesterday 
morning  a  complete  sceptic  on  the  subject  of  supernatural 
appearances.  Nay,  I  am  sure  that  had  I  told  you  what  was 
said  about  that  room,  those  very  reports  would  have  induced 
you,  by  your  own  choice,  to  select  it  for  your  accommodation. 
It  was  my  misfortune,  perhaps  my  error,  but  really  cannot  be 
termed  my  fault,  that  you  have  been  afflicted  so  strangely." 

"  Strangely  indeed  !  "  said  the  General,  resuming  his  good 
temper  ;  "  and  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  no  right  to  be 
ofifended  with  your  lordship  for  treating  me  like  what  I  used 
to  think  myself — a  man  of  some  firmness  and  courage. — But  I 


THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER.  45 

see  my  post  horses  are  arrived,  and  I  must  not  detain  youi 
lordship  from  your  amusement." 

"  Nay,  my  old  friend,"  said  Lord  Woodville,  "  since  you 
cannot  stay  with  us  another  day,  which,  ^ndeed,  I  can  no  longer 
urge,  give  me  at  least  half-an-hour  more.  You  used  to  love 
pictures,  and  I  have  a  gallery  of  portraits,  some  of  them  by 
Vandyke,  representing  ancestry  to  whom  this  property  and 
castle  formerly  belonged.  I  think  that  several  of  them  will 
Strike  you  as  possessing  merit." 

General  Browne  accepted  the  invitation,  though  somewhat 
unwillingly.  It  was  evident  he  was  not  to  breathe  freely  or  at 
ease  till  he  left  Woodville  Castle  far  behind  him.  He  could 
not  refuse  his  friend's  invitation,  however  ;  and  the  less  so, 
that  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  peevishness  which  he  had 
displayed  toward  his  well-meaning  entertainer. 

The  General,  therefore,  followed  Lord  Woodville  through 
several  rooms,  into  a  long  gallery  hung  with  pictures,  which  the 
latter  pointed  out  to  his  guest,  telling  the  names,  and  giving 
some  account  of  the  personages  whose  portraits  presented  them- 
selves in  progression.  General  Browne  was  but  little  interested 
in  the  details  which  these  accyunts  conveyed  to  him.  They 
were,  indeed,  of  the  kind  which  are  usually  found  in  an  old 
family  gallery.  Here  was  a  cavalier  who  had  ruined  the  estate 
in  the  royal  cause  ;  there  a  fine  lady  who  had  reinstated  it  by 
contracting  a  match  with  a  wealthy  Roundhead.  There  hung 
a  gallant  who  had  been  in  danger  for  corresponding  with  the 
exiled  Court  at  Saint  Germains  ;  here  one  who  had  taken  arms 
for  William  at  the  Revolution  ;  and  there  a  third  that  had 
thrown  his  weight  alternately  into  the  scale  of  Whig  and  Tory. 

While  Lord  Woodville  was  cramming  these  words  into  his 
guest's  ear,  "  against  the  stomach  of  his  sense."  theygained  the 
middle  of  the  gallery,  when  he  beheld  General  Browne  suddenly 
start,  and  assume  an  attitude  of  the  utmost  surprise,  not  unmixed 
with  fear,  as  his  eyes  were  caught  and  suddenly  riveted  by  a 
portrait  of  an  old  lady  in  a  sacque,  the  fashionable  dress  of  the 
end  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

"  There  she  is  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  there  she  is,  in  form  and 
features,  though  inferior  in  demoniac  expression  to  the  accursed 
hag  who  visited  me  last  night  !  " 

"  If  that  be  the  case,"  said  the  young  nobleman,  "  there  can 
remain  no  longer  any  doubt  of  the  horrible  reality  of  your 
apparition.  That  is  the  picture  of  a  wretched  ancestress  of 
mine,  of  whose  crimes  a  black  and  fearful  catalogue  is  recorded 
in  a  family  history  in  my  charter-chest.  The  recital  of  them 
would  be  too  horrible  >  it  is  enough  to  say,   that  in  yon  fatal 


46  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER. 

apartment  incest  and  unnatural  murder  were  committed.  I 
will  restore  it  to  the  solitude  to  which  the  better  judgment  of 
those  who  preceded  me  had  consigned  it ;  and  never  shall  any 
one,  so  long  as  I  can  prevent  it,  be  exposed  to  a  repetition  of 
the  supernatural  horrors  which  could  shake  such  courage  as 
yours." 

Thus  the  friends,  who  had  met  with  such  glee,  parted  in  a 
very  different  mood  ;  Lord  Woodville  to  command  the  Tapes- 
tried Chamber  to  be  unmantled,  and  the  door  built  up  ;  and 
General  Browne  to  seek  in  some  less  beautiful  country,  and  with 
some  less  dignified  friend,  forgetfulness  of  the  painful  night 
which  he  had  passed  in  Woodville  Castle. 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK. 


The  manner  in  which  this  trifle  7i'as  introduced  at  the  iimetd 
Mr.  F.  M.  Reynolds,  editor  of  the  Keepsake  of  1828,  /eaves  no 
occasion  for  a  preface. 

August  i8ji. 


TO  THE  EDITOR   OF  THE  KEEPSAKE. 

You  have  asked  me,  sir,  to  point  out  a  subject  for  the 
pencil,  and  I  feel  the  diihculty  of  complying  with  your  request  ; 
although  I  am  not  certainly  unaccustomed  to  literary  composi- 
tion, or  a  total  stranger  to  the  stories  of  history  and  tradition, 
which  afford  the  best  copies  for  the  painter's  art.  But  although 
siciit  pictura  poesis  is  an  ancient  and  undisputed  axiom — al- 
though poetry  and  painting  both  address  themselves  to  the 
same  object  of  exciting  the  human  imagination,  by  presenting 
to  it  pleasing  or  sublime  images  of  ideal  scenes  ;  yet  the  one 
conveying  itself  through  the  ears  to  the  understanding,  and  the 
other  applying  itself  only  to  the  e\es,  the  subjects  which  are 
best  suited  to  the  bard  or  tale-teller  are  often  totally  unfit  for 
painting,  where  the  artist  must  present  in  a  single  glance  all 
that  his  art  has  power  to  tell  us.  The  artist  can  neither  recapit- 
ulate the  past  nor  intimate  the  future.  The  single  notv  is  all 
which  he  can  present  ;  and  hence,  unquestionably,  many  sub- 
jects which  delight  us  in  poetry,  or  in  narrative,  whether  real 
or  fictitious,  cannot  with  advantage  be  transferred  to  the 
canvas. 

Being  in  some  degree  aware  of  these  difficulties,  though 
doubtless  unacquainted  both  with  their  extent,  and  the  means 
by  which  they  maybe  modified  or  surmounted,  I  have,  never- 
theless, ventured  to  draw  up  the  following  traditional  narrative, 
as  a  story  in  which,  when  the  general  details  are  known,  the 
interest  is  so  much  concentrated  in  one  strong  moment  of 
agonizing  passion,  that  it  can  be  understood,  and  sympathized 


48  DEATH  OF  THE  LAIRDS  JOCK. 

with,  at  a  single  glance.  I  therefore  presume  that  it  may  be 
acceptable  as  a  hint  to  some  one  among  the  numerous  artists, 
who  have  of  late  years  distinguished  themselves  as  rearing  up 
and  supporting  the  British  school. 

Enough  has  been  said  and  sung  about 

The  well  contested  ground, 
The  warlike  border-land — 

to  render  the  habits  ot  the  tribes  who  inhabited  them  before 
the  union  of  England  and  Scotland  familiar  to  most  of  your 
readers.  The  rougher  and  sterner  features  of  their  character 
were  softened  by  their  attachment  to  the  fine  arts,  from  which 
has  arisen  the  saying  that,  on  the  frontiers,  every  dale  had  its 
battle,  and  every  river  its  song.  A  rude  species  of  chivalry' 
was  in  constant  use,  and  single  combats  were  practiced  as  the 
amusement  of  the  few  intervals  of  truce  which  suspended  the 
exercise  of  war.  The  inveteracy  of  this  custom  may  be  inferred 
from  the  following  incident  : — 

Bernard  Gilpin,  the  apostle  of  the  north,  the  first  who  under- 
took to  preach  the  Protestant  doctrines  to  the  Border  dalesmen, 
was  surprised,  on  entering  one  of  their  churches,  to  see  a 
gauntlet,  or  mail-glove,  hanging  above  the  altar.  Upon  in- 
quiring the  meaning  of  a  symbol  so  indecorous  being  displayed 
in  that  sacred  place,  he  was  informed  by  the  clerk,  that  the 
glove  was  that  of  a  famous  swordsman,  who  hung  it  there  as  an 
emblem  of  a  general  challenge  and  gage  of  battle,  to  any  who 
should  dare  to  take  the  fatal  token  down.  "  Reach  it  to  me," 
said  the  reverend  churchman.  The  clerk  and  sexton  equally 
declined  the  perilous  office  ;  and  the  good  Bernard  Gilpin  was 
obliged  to  remove  the  glove  with  his  own  hands,  desiring  those 
who  were  present  to  inform  the  champion,  that  he,  and  no 
other,  had  possessed  himself  of  the  gage  of  defiance.  But  the 
champion  was  as  much  n shamed  to  face  Bernard  Gilpin  as  the 
officials  of  the  church  hail  been  to  displace  his  pledge  of  com- 
bat. 

The  date  of  the  following  story  is  about  the  latter  years  of 
Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  ;  and  the  events  took  place  in  Liddes- 
dale,  a  hilly  and  pastoral  district  of  Roxburghshire,  which,  on  a 
part  of  its  boundary,  is  divided  from  England  only  by  a  small 
river. 

During  the  good  old  times  of  rugging  and  riving  (that  is, 
tugging  and  tearing),  under  which  term  the  disorderly  doings 
of  the  warlike  age  are  affectionately  remembered,  this  valley 
was  principally  cultivated  by  the  sept  or  clan  of  the  Armstrongs. 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIKD'S JOCK.  4^ 

The  chief  of  this  warlike  race  was  the  Laird  of  Mangertown. 
At  the  period  of  which  I  speak,  the  estate  of  Mangertown,  with 
the  power  and  dignity  of  chief,  was  possessed  by  John  Arm- 
strong, a  man  of  great  size,  strength,  and  courage.  While  his 
father  was  alive,  he  was  distinguished  from  others  of  his  clan 
who  bore  the  same  name,  by  the  epithet  of  the  Laird^s  Jock, 
that  is  to  say,  the  Laird's  son  Jock,  or  Jack.  This  name  he 
distinguished  by  so  many  bold  and  desperate  achievements, 
that  he  retained  it  even  after  his  father's  death,  and  is  men- 
tioned under  it  both  in  authentic  records  and  in  tradition. 
Some  of  his  feats  are  recorded  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  and  others  mentioned  in  contemporary  chronicles. 

At  the  species  of  singular  combat  which  we  have  described, 
the  Laird's  Jock  was  unrivaled;  and  no  champion  of  Cumberland, 
Westmoreland,  or  Northumberland,  could  endure  the  sway  of 
the  huge  two-handed  sword  which  he  wielded,  and  which  few 
others  could  even  lift.  This  "  awful  sword,"  as  the  common 
people  term  it,  was  as  dear  to  him  as  Durindana  or  Fushberta 
to  their  respective  masters,  and  was  nearly  as  formidable  to  his 
enemies  as  those  renowned  falchions  proved  to  the  foes  of 
Christendom.  The  weapon  had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  a 
celebrated  English  outlaw  named  Hobbie  Noble,  who,  having 
committed  some  deed  for  which  he  was  in  danger  from  justice, 
fled  to  Liddesdale,  and  became  a  follower,  or  rather  a  brother- 
in-arms,  to  the  renowned  Laird's  Jock  ;  till,  venturing  into  Eng. 
land  with  a  small  escort,  a  faithless  guide,  and  with  a  light 
single-handed  sword  instead  of  his  ponderous  brand,  Hobbie 
Noble,  attacked  by  superior  numbers,  v/as  made  prisoner  and 
executed. 

With  this  weapon,  and  by  means  of  Lis  own  strength  and  ad- 
dress, the  Laird's  Jock  maintained  the  reputation  of  the  best 
swordsman  on  the  Border  side,  and  defeated  or  slew  many 
who  ventured  to  dispute  with  him  the  formidable  title. 

But  years  pass  on  with  the  strong  and  the  brave  as  with  the 
feeble  and  the  timid.  In  process  of  time,  the  Laird's  Jock  grew 
incapable  of  wielding  his  weapons,  and  finally  of  all  active  ex- 
ertion, even  of  the  most  ordinary  kind.  The  disabled  cham- 
pion became  at  length  totally  bed-ridden,  and  entirely  dependent 
for  his  comfort  on  the  pious  duties  of  an  only  daughter,  his 
perpetual  attendant  and  companion. 

Besides  this  dutiful  child,  the  Laird's  Jock  had  an  only  son, 
upon  whom  devolved  the  perilous  task  of  leading  the  clan  to 
battle,  and  maintaining  the  warlike  renown  of  his  native  country, 
which  was  now  disputed  by  the  English  upon  many  occasions. 
The  young  Armstrong  was  active,  brave,  and  strong,  and  brought 


JO  DEA  TH  OF  THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK. 

home  from  dangerous  adventures  many  tokens  of  decided  suc- 
cess. Still  the  ancient  chief  conceived  as  it  would  seem,  that 
his  son  was  scarce  yet  entitled  by  age  and  experience  to  be  en- 
trusted with  the  two-handed  sword,  by  the  use  of  which  he  had 
himself  been  so  dreadfully  distinguished. 

At  length,  an  English  champion,  one  of  the  name  of  Foster 
(if  I  rightly  recollect),  had  the  audacity  to  send  a  challenge  te 
the  best  swordsman  in  Liddesdale  ;  and  young  Armstrong,  burn 
ingfor  chivalrous  distinction,  accepted  the  challenge. 

The  heart  of  the  disabled  old  man  swelled  with  joy  when  he 
heard  that  the  challenge  was  passed  and  accepted,  and  the 
meeting  fixed  at  a  neutral  spot,  used  as  the  place  of  rencontre 
upon  such  occasions,  and  which  he  himself  had  distinguished 
by  numerous  victories.  He  exulted  so  much  in  the  conquest 
which  he  anticipated,  that,  to  nerve  his  son  to  still  bolder  ex- 
ertions, he  conferred  upon  him,  as  champion  of  his  clan  and  prov- 
ince, the  celebrated  weapon  which  he  had  hitherto  retained  in 
his  own  custody. 

This  was  not  all.  When  the  day  of  combat  arrived,  the 
Laird's  Jock,  in  spite  of  his  daughter's  affectionate  remon- 
strances, determined,  though  he  had  not  left  his  bed  for  two 
years,  to  be  a  personal  witness  of  the  duel.  His  will  was  still 
a  law  to  his  people,  who  bore  him  on  their  shoulders,  wrapped 
in  plaids  and  blankets,  to  the  spot  where  the  combat  was  to 
take  place,  and  seated  him  on  a  fragment  of  rock,  which  is  still 
called  the  Laird's  Jock's  stone.  There  he  remained  with  eyes 
fixed  on  the  lists  or  barrier,  within  which  the  champions  were 
about  to  meet.  His  daughter,  having  done  all  she  could  for 
his  accommodation,  stood  motionless  beside  him,  divided  be- 
tween anxiety  for  his  health,  and  for  the  event  of  the  combat 
to  her  beloved  brother.  Ere  yet  the  fight  began,  the  old  men 
gazed  on  their  chief,  now  seen  for  the  first  time  after  several 
years,  and  sadly  compared  his  altered  features  and  wasted  frame, 
with  the  paragon  of  strength  and  manly  beauty  which  they  once 
remembered.  The  young  men  gazed  on  his  large  form  and 
powerful  make,  as  upon  some  antediluvian  giant  who  had  sur- 
vived the  destruction  of  the  Flood. 

But  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  on  both  sides  recalled  the  at- 
tention of  every  one  to  the  lists,  surrounded  as  they  were  by 
numbers  of  both  nations  eager  to  witness  the  event  of  the  day. 
The  combatants  met.  It  is  needless  to  describe  the  struggle  : 
the  Scottish  champion  fell.  Foster,  placing  his  foot  on  his  an- 
tagonist, seized  on  the  redoubted  sword,  so  precious  in  the  eyes 
of  its  aged  owner,  and  brandished  it  over  his  head  as  a  trophy 
of  his  conquest.     The  English  shouted  in  triumph.     But  the 


DEATH  OF  THE  LAIRD'S  JOCK,  51 

c'espairing  cry  of  the  aged  champion,  who  saw  his  country  di* 
honored,  and  his  sword,  long  the  terror  of  their  race,  in  pos* 
session  of  an  Englishman,  was  heard  high  above  the  acclama- 
tions of  victory.  He  seemed,  for  an  instant,  animated  by  all 
his  wonted  power  ;  for  he  started  from  the  rock  on  which  he  sat, 
and  while  the  garments  with  which  he  had  been  invested  fell 
from  his  wasted  frame,  and  showed  the  ruins  of  his  strength,  he 
tossed  his  arms  wildly  to  heaven,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  indignation, 
horror,  and  despair,  which,  tradition  says,  was  heard  to  a  pre- 
ternatural distance,  and  resembled  the  cry  of  a  dying  lion  more 
than  a  human  sound. 

His  friends  received  him  in  their  arms  as  he  sank  utterly  ex- 
hausted by  the  effort,  and  bore  him  back  to  his  castle  in  mute 
sorrow ;  while  his  daughter  at  once  wept  for  her  brother,  and 
endeavored  to  mitigate  and  soothe  the  despair  of  her  father. 
But  this  was  impossible  ;  the  old  man's  only  tie  to  life  was  rent 
rudely  asunder,  and  his  heart  had  broken  with  it.  The  death 
of  his  son  had  no  part  in  his  sorrow.  If  he  thought  of  him  at 
all,  it  was  as  the  degenerate  boy,  through  whom  the  honor  of 
his  country  and  clan  had  been  lost  ;  and  he  died  in  the  course 
of  three  days,  never  even  mentioning  his  name,  but  pouring  out 
unintermitted  lamentations  for  the  loss  of  his  sword. 

I  conceive,  that  the  instant  when  the  disabled  chief  was 
roused  into  a  last  exertion  by  the  agony  of  the  moment  is  favor- 
able to  the  object  of  a  painter.  He  might  obtain  the  full  advan- 
tage of  contrasting  the  form  of  the  rugged  old  man,  in  the  extrem- 
ity of  furious  despair,  with  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  female 
form.  The  fatal  field  might  be  thrown  into  perspective,  so  as 
to  give  full  effect  to  these  two  principal  figures,  and  with  the 
single  explanation  that  the  piece  represented  a  soldier  beholding 
his  son  slain,  and  the  honor  of  his  country  lost,  the  picture 
would  be  sufficiently  intelligible  at  the  first  glance.  If  it  was 
thought  necessary  to  show  more  clearly  the  nature  of  the  con- 
flict, it  might  be  indicated  by  the  pennon  of  Saint  George  being 
displayed  at  one  end  of  the  lists,  and  that  of  Saint  Andrew  at 
the  other. 

I  remain,  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant. 

The  Author  of  Waverlet. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION— (1831). 

The  preceding  Tale  of  this  Collection*  concluded  the  last  of 
the  pieces  originally  published  under  the  nominis  umbra  of  the 
Author  of  Waverley,  and  the  circumstances  which  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  the  writer  to  continue  longer  in  the  possession  of  his 
incognito  were  communicated  in  1827,  in  the  Introduction  f  to  the 
first  series  of  "  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate" — consisting  (besides 
a  biographical  sketch  of  the  imaginary  rhroniclei)  of  three  tales, 
entitled  "  The  Highland  Widow,"  "  The  Two  Drovers,"  and  "  The 
Surgeon's  Daughter."  In  this  and  the  next  volume  are  included 
the  two  first-named  of  these  pieces,  together  with  three  detached 
stories,  which  appeared  the  year  after  in  the  elegant  compilation 
called  "  The  Keepsake."  The  "  Surgeon's  Daughter"  it  is  thought 
better  to  defer  until  a  succeeding  volume,  than  to 

"  Begin  and  break  off  in  the  middle." 

I  have,  perhaps,  said  enough  on  former  occasions  of  the  mis- 
fortunes which  led  to  the  dropping  of  that  mask  under  which  I  had, 
for  a  long  series  of  years,  enjoyed  so  large  a  portion  of  public 
favor.  Through  the  success  of  those  literary  efforts  I  had  been 
enabled  to  indulge  most  of  the  tastes  which  a  retired  person  of 
my  station  might  be  supposed  to  entertain.  In  the  pen  of  this 
nameless  romancer  I  seemed  to  possess  something  like  the  secret 
fountain  of  coined  gold  and  pearls  vouchsafed  to  the  traveller  of 
the  Eastern  Talc  ;  and  no  doubt  believed  that  I  might  venture, 
without  silly  imprudence-  to  extend  my  personal  expenditure  con- 
siderably beyond  what  I  should  have  thought  of,  had  my  means 
been  limited  to  t'.ie  competence  which  I  derived  from  inheritance, 
with  the  moderate  income  of  a  professional  situation.  I  bought 
and  built  and  planted,  and  was  considered  by  myself,  as  by  the 
rest  of  the  world,  in  the  safe  possession  of  an  easy  fortune.  My 
riches,  however,  like  the  other  riches  of  this  world,  were  liable  to 

*  Namely,  Woodstock,  which  forms  Vol.  XXI.  of  the  present  series, 
t  See  also  Appendi.x — Theatrical  Fund  Dinner. 


iv  INTRODUCTIOl^. 

accidents,  under  which  they  were  ultimately  destined  to  make  unto 
themselves  wings  and  fly  away.  The  year  1825,  so  disastrous  to 
many  branches  of  industry  and  commerce,  did  not  spare  the 
market  of  literature  ;  and  the  sudden  ruin  that  fell  on  so  many  of 
the  booksellers  could  scarcely  have  been  expected  to  leave  un- 
scathed one  whose  career  had  of  necessity  connected  him  deeply 
and  extensively  with  the  pecuniary  transactions  of  that  profession. 
In  a  word,  almost  without  one  note  of  premonition,  1  found  myself 
involved  in  the  sweeping  catastrophe  of  the  unhappy  time,  and 
called  on  to  meet  the  demands  of  creditors  upon  commercial  estab- 
lishments with  which  my  fortunes  had  long  been  bound  up,  to  the 
extent  of  no  less  a  sum  than  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
pounds. 

The  Author  having,  however  rashly,  committed  his  pledges  thus 
largely  to  the  hazards  of  trading  companies,  it  behoved  him,  of 
course,  to  abide  the  consequences  of  his  conduct,  and,  wiih  what- 
ever feelings,  he  surrendered  on  the  instant  every  shred  of  prop- 
erty which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  call  his  own.  It  became 
vested  in  the  hands  of  gentlemen  whose  integrity,  prudence,  and 
intelligence  were  combined  with  all  possible  liberality  and  kind- 
ness of  disposition,  and  who  readily  afforded  every  assistance 
toward  the  execution  of  plans,  in  the  success  of  which  the  Author 
contemplated  the  possibility  of  his  ultimate  extraction,  and  which 
were  of  such  a  nature  that,  had  assistance  of  this  sort  been  with- 
held, he  could  have  had  little  prospect  of  carrying  them  into  effect. 
Among  other  resources  which  occurred  was  the  project  of  that 
complete  and  corrected  edition  of  his  Novels  and  Romances 
(whose  real  parentage  had  of  necessity  been  disclosed  at  the  mo- 
ment of  the  commercial  convulsions  alluded  to)  which  has  now 
advanced  with  unprecedented  favor  nearly  to  its  close  ;  but  as  he 
purposed  also  to  continue,  for  the  behoof  of  those  to  whom  he  was 
indebted,  the  exercise  of  his  pen  in  the  same  path  of  literature, 
so  long  as  the  taste  of  his  countrymen  should  seem  to  approve  of 
his  efforts,  it  appeared  to  him  that  it  would  have  been  an  idle  piece 
of  affectntion  to  attempt  getting  up  a  new  incognito  after  his 
original  visor  had  been  thus  dashed  from  his  brow.  Hence  the 
personal  narrative  prefixed  to  the  first  work  of  fiction  which  he 
put  forth  after  the  paternity  of  the  "  Waverley  Novels  "  had  come 
to  be  publicly  ascertained  ;  and  though  many  of  the  particulars 
originally  avowed  in  that  Notice  have  been  unavoidably  adverted 
to  in  the  preface  and  notes  to  some  of  the  preceding  volumes  of 
t'.',  present  collection,  it  is  now  reprinted  as  it  stood  at  the  time, 
because  some  interest  is  generally  attached  to  a  coin  or  medal 
struck  on  a  special  occasion,  as  expressing,  perhaps,  more  faith- 
fully than  the  same  artist  could  have  afterward  conveyed,  the  feel- 
ings of  the  moment  that  gave  it  birth.  The  Introduction  to  the 
first  series  of  "Chronicles  of  the  Canongate  "  ran,  then,  in  these 
words  : 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


All  who  are  acquainted  with  the  early  history  of  the  Italian  stage 
are  aware  that  Arlechino  is  not,  in  his  original  conception,  a 
mere  worker  of  marvels  with  his  wooden  sword,  a  jumper  in  and 
out  of  windows,  as  upon  our  theatre,  but,  as  his  parti-colored 
jacket  implies,  a  buffoon  or  clown,  whose  mouth,  far  from  being 
eternally  closed,  as  among  us,  is  filled,  like  that  of  Touchstone, 
with  quips  and  cranks  and  witty  devices,  very  often  delivered 
extempore.  It  is  not  easy  to  trace  how  he  became  possessed  of 
his  black  vizard,  which  was  anciently  made  in  the  resemblance  of 
the  face  of  a  cat  ;  but  it  seems  that  the  mask  was  essential  to  the 
performance  of  the  character,  as  will  appear  from  the  following 
theatrical  anecdote  : 

An  actor  on  the  Italian  stage  permitted  at  the  Foire  du  St. 
Germain,  in  Paris,  was  renowned  for  the  wild,  venturous,  and  ex- 
travagant wit,  the  brilliant  sallies,  and  fortunate  repartees,  with 
which  he  prodigally  seasoned  the  character  of  parti-  colored  jester. 
Some  critics,  whose  good-will  toward  a  favorite  performer  was 
stronger  than  their  judgment,  took  occasion  to  remonstrate  with 
the  successful  actor  on  the  subject  of  the  grotesque  vizard.  They 
went  wilily  to  their  purpose,  observing  that  his  classical  and  Attic 
wit,  his  delicate  vein  of  humor,  his  happy  turn  for  dialogue,  were 
rendered  burlesque  and  ludicrous  by  this  unmeaning  and  bizarre 
disguise,  and  that  those  attributes  would  become  far  more  impres- 
sive if  aided  by  the  spirit  of  his  eye  and  the  expression  of  his 
natural  features.  The  actor's  vanity  was  easily  so  far  engaged  as 
to  induce  him  to  make  the  experiment.  He  played  Harlecjuin 
barefaced,  but  was  considered  on  all  hands  as  having  made  a  total 
failure.  He  had  lost  the  audacity  which  a  sense  of  incognito  be- 
stowed, and  with  it  all  the  reckless  play  of  raillery  which  gave 
vivacity  to  his  original  acting.  He  cursed  his  advisers,  and  re- 
sumed his  grotesque  vizard  ;  but,  it  is  said,  without  ever  being  able 
to  regain  the  careless  and  successful  levity  which  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  disguise  had  formerly  bestowed. 

Perhaps  the  Author  of  Waverley  is  now  about  to  incur  a  risk 
of  the  same  kind,  and  endanger  his  popularity  by  having  laid  aside 
his  incognito.  It  is  certainly  not  a  voluntary  experiment,  like  that 
of  Harlequin  ;  for  it  was  my  original  intention  never  to  have 
avowed  these  works  during  my  lifetime,  and  the  original  manu- 
scripts were  carefully  preserved  (though  by  the  care  of  others 
rather  than  mine),  with  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  necessary 
evidence  of  the  truth  when  the  period  of  announcing  it  should  ar- 
rive.* But  the  affairs  of  my  publishers  having  unfortunately  passed 
into  a  management  different  from  their  own,  I  had  no  right  any 
longer  to  rely  upon  secrecy  in  that  quarter  ;  and  thus  my  mask, 
like  my  Aunt  Dinah's  in  "  Tristram  Shandy,"  having  begun  to  wax 
a  little  threadbare  about  the  chin,  it  became  time  to  lay  it  aside 

*  These  manuscripts  are  at  present  (August,  1831)  advertised  for  public 
sale,  which  is  an  addition,  though  a  small  one,  to  other  annoyance/. 


vi  INTRODUC  TION. 

with  a  good  grace,  unless  I  desired  it  should  fall  in  pieces  from  my 
face,  which  was  now  become  likely. 

Yet  I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  selecting  the  time  and 
place  in  which  the  disclosure  was  finally  made  ;  nor  was  there  any 
concert  betwixt  my  learned  and  respected  friend  Lord  Meadow- 
bank  and  myself  upon  that  occasion.  It  was,  as  the  reader  is 
probably  aware,  upon  the  23d  February  last,  at  a  public  meeting, 
called  for  establishing  a  professional  Theatrical  Fund  in  Edin- 
burgh, that  the  communication  took  place.  Just  before  we  sat 
down  to  table  Lord  Meadowbank*  asked  me,  privately,  whether  I 
was  still  anxious  to  preserve  my  incognito  on  the  subject  of  what 
were  called  the  Waverley  Novels  ?  I  did  not  immediately  see  the 
purpose  of  his  Lordship's  question,  although  1  certainly  might  have 
been  led  to  infer  it,  and  replied,  that  the  secret  had  now  of  necessity 
become  known  to  so  many  people  that  I  was  indifferent  on  the  sub- 
ject. Lord  Meadowbank  was  thus  induced,  while  doing  me  the 
great  honor  of  proposing  my  health  to  the  meeting,  to  say  some- 
thing on  the  subject  of  these  novels,  so  strongly  connecting  them 
with  me  as  the  author,  that  by  remaining  silent  I  must  have  stood 
convicted  either  of  the  actual  paternity  or  of  the  still  greater 
crime  of  being  supposed  willing  to  receive  indirectly  praise  to 
which  1  had  no  just  title.  1  thus  found  myself  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly placed  in  the  confessional,  and  had  only  time  to  recol- 
lect that  I  had  been  guided  thither  by  a  most  friendly  hand,  and 
could  not,  perhaps,  find  a  better  public  opportunity  to  lay  down  a 
disguise  which  began  to  resemble  that  of  a  detected  masquerader.f 

I  had  therefore  the  task  of  avowing  myself,  to  the  numerous 
and  respectable  company  assembled,  as  the  sole  and  unaided 
author  of  these  Novels  of  Waverley,  the  paternity  of  which  was 
likely  at  one  time  to  have  formed  a  controversy  of  some  celebrity, 
for  the  ingenuity  with  which  some  instructors  of  the  public  gave 
their  assurance  on  the  subject  was  extremely  persevering.  I  now 
think  it  further  necessary  to  say,  that  while  I  take  on  myself  all 
the  merits  and  demerits  attending  these  compositions,  I  am  bound 
to  acknowledge  with  gratitude  hints  of  subjects  and  legends  which 
I  have  received  from  various  quarters,  and  have  occasionally  used 
as  a  foundation  of  my  fictitious  compositions,  or  woven  up  with 
them  in  the  shape  of  episodes.  I  am  bound,  in  particular,  to 
acknowledge  the  unremitting  kindness  of  Mr.  Joseph  Train,  Su- 
pervisor of  Excise  at  Dumfries,  to  whose  unwearied  industry  I  have 
been  indebted  for  many  curious  traditions  and  points  of  antiqua- 
rian interest.  It  was  Mr.  Train  who  brought  to  my  recollection  the 
history  of  Old  Mortality,  although  I  myself  had  had  a  personal  in- 
terview with  that  celebrated  wanderer  so  far  back  as  about  1792, 
when  I  found  him  on  his  usual  task.  He  was  then  engaged  in  re- 
pairing the  gravestones  of  the  Covenanters  who  had  died  while 
imprisoned  in  the  Castle  of  Dunnottar,  to  which  many  of  them 
were  committed  prisoners  at  the  period  of  Argyle's  rising  ;  their 

*  One  of  the  Supreme  Judges  of  Scotland,  termed  Lords  of  Council  and 
Session. 

t  See  Appendix— Theatrical  Fund  Dinner. 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

place  of  confinement  is  still  called  the  Whigs'  Vault.  Mr.  Train, 
however,  procured  for  me  far  more  extensive  information  concern- 
ing this  singular  person,  whose  name  was  Patterson,  than  I  had 
been  able  to  acquire  during  my  own  short  conversation  with  him. 
He  was  (as  I  think  I  have  somewhere  already  stated)  a  native  of 
the  parish  of  Closeburn,  in  Dumfriesshire,  and  it  is  believed  that 
domestic  affliction,  as  well  as  devotional  feeling,  induced  him  to 
commence  the  wandering  mode  of  life  which  he  pursued  for  a 
very  long  period.  It  is  more  than  twenty  years  since  Robert  Pat- 
terson's death,  which  took  place  on  the  high  road  near  Lockerby, 
where  he  was  found  exhausted  and  expiring.  The  white  pony, 
the  companion  of  his  pilgrimage,  was  standing  by  the  side  of  its 
dying  master  ;  the  whole  furnishing  a  scene  not  unfitted  for  the 
pencil.     These  particulars  I  had  from  Mr.  Train.* 

Another  debt,  which  I  pay  most  willingly,  I  owe  to  an  unknown 
correspondent  (a  ladyf),  who  favored  me  with  the  history  of  the 
upright  and  high-principled  female  whom,  in  "  The  Heart  of  Mid- 
Lothian,"  I  have  termed  Jeanie  Deans.  The  circumstance  of  her 
refusing  to  save  her  sister's  life  by  an  act  of  perjury,  and  under- 
taking a  pilgrimage  to  London  to  obtain  her  pardon,  are  both 
represented  as  true  by  my  fair  and  obliging  correspondent;  and  they 
led  me  to  consider  the  possibility  of  rendering  a  fictitious  person- 
age interesting  by  mere  dignity  of  mind  and  rectitude  of  principle, 
assisted  by  unpretending  good  sense  and  temper,  without  any  of 
the  beauty,  grace,  talent,  accomplishment,  and  wit  to  which  a 
heroine  of  romance  is  supposed  to  have  a  prescriptive  right.  If 
the  portrait  was  received  with  interest  by  the  public,  I  am  con- 
scious how  much  it  was  owing  to  the  truth  and  force  of  the  original 
sketch,  which  I  regret  being  unable  to  present  to  the  public,  as  it 
was  written  with  much  feeling  and  spirit. 

Old  and  odd  books,  and  a  considerable  collection  of  family 
legends,  formed  another  quarry,  so  ample,  that  it  was  much  more 
likely  that  the  strength  of  the  laborer  should  be  exhausted  than 
that  materials  should  fail.  I  may  mention,  for  example's  sake,  that 
the  terrible  catastrophe  of  "The  Bride  of  Lammermoor  "  actually 
occurred  in  a  Scottish  family  of  rank.  The  female  relative  by 
whom  the  melancholy  tale  was  communicated  to  me,  many  years 
since,  was  a  near  connection  of  the  family  in  which  the  event  had 
happened,  and  always  told  it  with  an  appearance  of  melancholy 
mystery,  which  enhanced  the  interest.  She  had  known,  in  her 
youth,  the  brother  who  rode  before  the  unhappy  victim  to  the  fatal 
altar,  who,  though  then  a  mere  boy,  and  occupied  almost  entirely 
with  the  gayety  of  his  own  appearance  in  the  bridal  procession, 
could  not  but  remark  that  the  hand  of  his  sister  was  moist,  and 
cold  as  that  of  a  statue.  It  is  unnecessary  further  to  withdraw  the 
veil  from  this  scene  of  family  distress,  nor,  although  it  occurred 
more  than  a  hundred  years  since,  might  it  be  altogether  agreeable 
to  the  representatives  of  the  families  concerned  in  the  narrative. 

*  See,  for  some  further  particulars,  the  notes  to  Old  Mortality  in  the 
present  collective  edition. 
t  The  late  Mrs.  Goldie. 


viii  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

It  may  be  proper  to  say  that  the  events  alone  are  imitated  ;  but  I 
had  neither  the  means  nor  intention  of  copying  the  manners  or 
tracing  the  characters  of  the  persons  concerned  in  the  real  story. 

Indeed,  I  may  here  state  generally,  that  although  1  have  deemed 
historical  personages  free  subjects  of  delmeation,  I  have  never  on 
any  occasion  violated  the  respect  due  to  private  life.  It  was  indeed 
impossible  that  traits  proper  to  persons,  both  living  and  dead,  with 
whom  I  have  had  intercourse  in  society,  should  not  have  risen  to 
my  pen  in  such  works  as  "  Waverley,"  and  those  which  followed  it. 
But  1  have  always  studied  to  generalize  the  portraits,  so  that  they 
should  still  seem,  on  the  whole,  the  productions  of  fancy,  though 
possessing  some  resemblance  to  real  individuals.  Yet  I  must  own 
my  attempts  have  not  in  this  last  particular  been  uniformly  suc- 
cessful. There  are  men  whose  characters  are  so  peculiarly  marked 
that  the  delineation  of  some  leading  and  principal  feature  inevi- 
tably places  the  whole  person  before  you  in  his  individuality. 
Thus  the  character  of  Jonathan  Oldbuck,  in  "  The  Antiquary,"  was 
partly  founded  on  that  of  an  old  friend  of  my  youth,  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  introducing  mc  to  Shakespeare,  and  other  invaluable 
favors  ;  but  I  thought  1  had  so  completely  disguised  the  likeness 
that  his  features  could  not  be  recognized  by  any  one  alive.  1  was 
mistaken,  however,  and  indeed  had  endangered  what  I  desired 
should  be  considered  as  a  secret  ;  for  I  afterward  learned  that  a 
highly  respectable  gentleman,  one  of  the  few  surviving  friends  of 
my  father,*  and  an  acute  critic,  had  said,  upon  the  appearance  of 
the  work,  that  he  was  now  convinced  who  was  the  author  of  it,  as 
he  recognized  in  the  Antiquary  of  Monkbarns  traces  of  the  char- 
acter of  a  very  intimate  friend  of  my  father's  family. 

I  may  here  also  notice  that  the  sort  of  exchange  of  gallantry 
which  is  represented  as  taking  place  betwixt  Waverley  and  Colonel 
Talbot  is  a  literal  fact.  The  real  circumstances  of  the  anecdote, 
alike  honorable  to  Whig  and  Tory,  are  these  : 

Alexander  Stewart  of  Invernahyle — a  name  which  I  cannot 
write  without  the  warmest  recollections  of  gratitude  to  the  friend 
of  my  childhood  who  first  introduced  me  to  the  Highlands,  their 
traditions,  and  their  manners — had  been  engaged  actively  in  the 
troubles  of  1745.  As  he  charged  at  the  battle  of  Preston  with  his 
clan,  the  Stewarts  of  Appine,  he  saw  an  officer  of  the  opposite 
army  standing  alone  by  a  battery  of  four  cannon,  of  which  he  dis- 
charged three  on  the  advancing  Highlanders,  and  then  drew  his 
sword.  Invernahyle  rushed  on  him,  and  required  him  to  surren- 
der. "  Never  to  rebels!  "  was  the  undaunted  reply,  accompanied 
with  a  lunge,  which  the  Highlander  received  on  his  target;  but 
instead  of  using  his  sword  in  cutting  down  his  now  defenceless  an- 
tagonist, he  employed  it  in  parrying  the  blow  of  a  Lochaber-axe, 
aimed  at  tlie  officer  by  the  miller,  one  of  his  own  followers,  a  grim- 
looking  old  Highlander,  whom  I  remember  to  have  seen.  Thus 
overpowered,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Allan  Whitefoord,  a  gentleman 
of  rank  and  consequence,  as  well  as  a  brave  officer,  gave  up  his 

*  Jame-;  Chalmers,  Esq.,  Solicitor-at-law,  London,  who  died  during  the 
publication  of  the  present  edition  of  these  Novels.    (Aug.,  1831.) 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  ix 

sword,  and  with  it  his  purse  and  watch,  which  Invernahyle  ac- 
cepted, to  save  them  from  his  foUowers.  After  the  affair  was 
over,  Mr.  Stewart  sought  out  his  prisoner,  and  they  were  intro- 
duced to  each  other  by  the  celebrated  John  Roy  Stewart,  who  ac- 
quainted Colonel  Whitefoord  with  the  quality  of  his  captor,  and 
made  him  aware  of  the  necessity  of  receiving  back  his  property, 
which  he  was  inclined  to  leave  in  the  hands  to  which  it  had  fallen. 
So  great  became  the  confidence  established  betwixt  them,  that 
Invernahyle  obtained  from  the  Chevalier  his  prisoner's  freedom 
upon  parole  ;  and  soon  afterward,  having  been  sent  back  to  the 
Highlands  to  raise  men,  he  visited  Colonel  Whitefoord  at  his  own 
house,  and  spent  two  happy  days  with  him  and  his  Whig  friends, 
without  thinking,  on  either  side,  of  the  civil  war  which  was  then 
raging. 

When  the  battle  of  CuUoden  put  an  end  to  the  hopes  of  Charles 
Edward,  Invernahyle,  wounded  and  unable  to  move,  was  borne 
from  the  field  by  the  faithful  zeal  of  his  retainers.  But,  as  he  had 
been  a  distinguished  Jacobite,  his  family  and  property  were  ex- 
posed to  the  system  of  vindictive  destruction  too  generally  car- 
ried into  execution  through  the  country  of  the  insurgents.  It 
was  now  Colonel  Whitefoord's  turn  to  exert  himself,  and  he 
wearied  all  the  authorities,  civil  and  military,  with  his  solicitations 
for  pardon  to  the  saver  of  his  life,  or  at  least  for  a  protection  for 
his  wife  and  family.  His  applications  were  for  a  long  time  unsuc- 
cessful :  "  I  was  found  with  the  mark  of  the  Beast  upon  me  in 
every  list,"  was  Invernahyle's  expression.  At  length  Colonel 
Whitefoord  applied  to  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  and  urged  his 
suit  with  every  argument  which  he  could  think  of.  Being  still  re- 
pulsed, he  took  his  commission  from  his  bosom,  and,  having  said 
something  of  his  own  and  his  family's  exertions  in  the  cause  of 
the  House  of  Hanover,  begged  to  resign  his  situation  in  their  ser- 
vice, since  he  could  not  be  permitted  to  show  his  gratitude  to  the 
person  to  whom  he  owed  his  life.  The  Duke,  struck  with  his  ear- 
nestness, desired  him  to  take  up  his  commission,  and  granted  the 
protection  required  for  the  family  of  Invernahyle. 

The  chieftain  himself  lay  concealed  in  a  cave  near  his  own 
house,  before  which  a  small  body  of  regular  soldiers  were  en- 
camped. He  could  hear  their  muster-roll  called  every  morning, 
and  their  drums  beat  to  quarter  at  nights,  and  not  a  change  of  the 
sentinels  escaped  him.  As  it  was  suspected  that  he  was  lurking 
somewhere  on  the  property,  his  family  were  closely  watched,  and 
compelled  to  use  the  utmost  precaution  in  supplying  him  with 
food.  One  of  his  daughters,  a  child  of  eight  or  ten  years  old,  was 
employed  as  the  agent  least  likely  to  be  suspected.  She  was  an 
instance,  among  others,  that  a  time  of  danger  and  difficulty  creates 
a  premature  sharpness  of  intellect.  She  made  herself  acquainted 
among  the  soldiers,  till  she  became  so  familiar  to  them  that  her 
motions  escaped  their  notice  ;  and  her  practice  was,  to  stroll  away 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  cave  and  leave  what  slender  supply  of 
food  she  carried  for  that  purpose  under  some  remarkable  stone,  or 
the  root  of  some  tree,  where  her  father  might  find  it  as  he  crept  by 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

night  from  his  lurking-place.  Times  became  milder,  and  my  ex- 
cellent friend  was  relieved  from  proscription  by  the  Act  of  Indem- 
nity. Such  is  the  interesting  story  which  I  have  rather  injured 
than  improved  by  the  manner  in  which  it  is  told  in  "Waverley." 

This  incident,  with  several  other  circumstances  illustrating 
the  Tales  in  question,  was  communicated  by  me  to  my  late 
lamented  friend,  William  Erskine  (a  Scottish  Judge,  by  the  title 
of  Lord  Kinedder),  who  afterward  reviewed  with  far  too  much 
partiality  the  "  Tales  of  my  Landlord,"  for  the  Quarterly  Review 
of  January,  1817.*  In  the  same  article  are  contained  other  illus- 
trations of  the  Novels,  with  which  I  supplied  my  accomplished 
friend  who  took  the  trouble  to  write  the  review.  The  reader  who 
is  desirous  of  such  information  will  find  the  original  of  Meg 
Merrilies,  and,  I  believe,  of  one  or  two  other  personages  of  the 
same  cast  of  character  in  the  article  referred  to. 

I  may  also  mention,  that  the  tragic  and  savage  circumstances 
which  are  represented  as  preceding  the  birth  of  Allan  MacAulay, 
in  the  "  Legend  of  Montrose,"  really  happened  in  the  family  of 
Stewart  of  Ardvoirlich.  The  wager  about  the  candlesticks,  whose 
place  was  supplied  by  Highland  torch-bearers,  was  laid  and  won 
by  one  of  the  ISIacUonalds  of  Keppoch. 

There  can  be  but  little  amusement  in  winnowing  out  the  few 
grains  of  truth  which  are  contained  in  this  mass  of  empty  fiction. 
I  may,  however,  before  dismissing  the  subject,  allude  to  the 
various  localities  which  have  been  affixed  to  some  of  the  scenery 
introduced  into  these  Novels,  by  which,  for  example,  Wolfs  Hope 
is  identified  with  Fast  Castle  in  Berwickshire,  Tillietudlem  with 
Draphane  in  Clydesdale,  and  the  valley  in  "The  Monastery,"  called 
Glendearg,  with  the  dale  of  the  river  Allan,  above  Lord  Somer- 
ville's  villa,  near  Melrose.  I  can  only  say,  that,  in  these  and 
other  instances,  I  had  no  purpose  of  describing  any  particular 
local  spot  ;  and  the  resemblance  must  therefore  be  of  that  general 
kind  which  necessarily  exists  between  scenes  of  the  same  charac- 
ter. The  iron-bound  coast  of  Scotland  affords  upon  its  headlands 
and  promontories  fifty  such  castles  as  Wolf's  Hope  ;  every  county 
has  a  valley  more  or  less  resembling  Glendearg  ;  and  if  castles 
like  Tillietudlem,  or  mansions  like  the  Baron  of  Bradwardinc's,  are 
now  less  frequently  to  be  met  with,  it  is  owing  to  the  rage  of  in- 
discriminate destruction,  which  has  removed  or  ruined  so  many 
monuments  of  antiquity,  when  they  were  not  protected  by  their 
inaccessible  situation. f 

The  scraps  of  poetry  which  have  been  in  most  cases  tacked  to 
the  beginning  of  chapters  in  these  Novels,  are  sometimes  quoted 
either  from  reading  or  from  memory,  but,  in  the  general  case,  are 
pure  invention.  I  found  it  too  troublesome  to  turn  to  the  collec- 
tion of  the  British  Poets  to  discover  apposite  mottoes,  and,  in  the 

*  Lord  Kinedfler  died  in  August,  1822.     Eheu  !     (Aug.,  1831.) 
+  I  would  particularly  intimate  the  Kaim  of  b'rie,  on  the  eastern  coast  of 
Scotland,  as  having  suggested  an  idea  for  the  tower  called  Wolfs   Crag, 
which  the  public  more  generally  identified  with  the  ancient  tower  of  Fast 
Castle. 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  x\ 

situation  of  the  theatrical  mechanist,  who,  when  the  white  paper 
which  represented  his  shower  of  snow  was  exhausted,  continued 
the  storm  by  snowing  brown,  I  drew  on  my  memory  as  long  as  I 
could,  and  when  that  failed,  eked  it  out  with  invention,  I  believe 
that,  in  some  cases,  where  actual  names  are  affixed  to  the  sup- 
posed quotations,  it  v/ould  be  to  little  purpose  to  seek  them  in 
the  works  of  the  authors  referred  to.  In  some  cases  I  have  been 
entertained  when  Dr.  Watts  and  other  graver  authors  have  been 
ransacked  in  vain  for  stanzas  for  which  the  novelist  alone  was  re- 
sponsible. 

And  now  the  reader  may  expect  me,  while  in  the  confessional, 
to  explain  the  motives  why  I  have  so  long  persisted  in  disclaiming 
the  works  of  which  I  am  now  writing.  To  this  it  would  be  difficult 
to  give  any  other  reply,  save  that  of  Corporal  Nym — It  was  the 
author's  humor  or  caprice  for  the  time.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  con- 
strued into  ingratitude  to  the  public,  to  whose  indulgence  I  have 
owed  my  sang-froid  much  more  than  to  any  merit  of  my  own,  if  I 
confess  that  I  am,  and  have  been,  more  indifferent  to  success,  or 
to  failure,  as  an  author,  than  may  be  the  case  with  others,  who 
feel  more  strongly  the  passion  for  literary  fame,  probably  because 
they  are  justly  conscious  of  a  better  title  to  it.  It  was  not  until  I 
had  attained  the  age  of  thirty  years  that  I  made  any  serious  attempt 
at  distinguishing  myself  as  an  author  ;  and  at  that  period  men's 
hopes,  desires,  and  wishes  have  usually  acquired  something  of  a 
decisive  character,  and  arc  not  eagerly  and  easily  diverted  into  a 
new  channel.  When  I  made  the  discovery — for  to  me  it  was  one 
— that  by  amusing  myself  with  composition,  which  I  felt  a  delight- 
ful occupation,  I  could  also  give  pleasure  to  others,  and  became 
aware  that  literary  pursuits  were  likely  to  engage  in  future  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  my  time,  I  felt  some  alarm  that  I  might  ac- 
quire those  habits  of  jealousy  and  fretfulness  which  have  lessened 
and  degraded  the  character  even  of  great  authors,  and  rendered 
them,  by  their  petty  squabbles  and  mutual  irritability,  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  the  people  of  the  world.  I  resolved,  therefore,  in  this  re- 
spect, to  guard  my  breast,  perhaps  an  unfriendly  critic  may  add, 
my  brow,  with  triple  brass,*  and  as  much  as  possible  to  avoid  rest- 
ing my  thoughts  and  wishes  upon  literary  success,  lest  I  should 
endanger  my  own  peace  of  mind  and  tranquillity  by  literary  fail- 
ure. It  would  argue  either  stupid  apathy  or  ridiculous  affecta- 
tion to  say  that  I  have  been  insensible  to  the  public  applause, 
when  I  have  been  honored  with  its  testimonies  ;  and  still  more 
highly  do  I  prize  the  invaluable  friendships  which  some  temporary 
popularity  has  enabled  me  to  form  among  those  of  my  contempo- 
raries most  distinguished  by  talents  and  genius,  and  which  I  venture 
to  hope  now  rest  upon  a  basis  more  firm  than  the  circumstances 
which  gave  rise  to  them.  Yet,  feeling  all  these  advantages  as  a 
man  ought  to  do,  and  must  do,  I  may  say,  with  truth  and  confi- 
dence, that  I  have,  I  think,  tasted  of  the  intoxicating  cup  with 
moderation,  and  that  I  have  never,  either  in  conversation  or  corre- 

*  Not  altogether  impossible,  when  it  is  considered  that  I  have  been  at  the 
bar  since  1792  1     (Aug.,  1831.) 


xii  INTRODUCTIOSr. 

spondence,  encouraged  discussions  respecting  my  own  literary  pur- 
suits. On  the  contrary,  I  have  usually  found  such  topics,  even 
when  introduced  from  motives  most  flattering  to  myself,  rather 
embarrassing  and  disagreeable. 

I  have  now  frankly  told  my  motives  for  concealment,  so  far  as 
I  am  conscious  of  having  any,  and  the  public  will  forgive  the  ego- 
tism of  the  detail,  as  what  is  necessarily  connected  with  it.  The 
Author,  so  long  and  loudly  called  for,  has  appeared  on  the  stage, 
and  made  his  obeisance  to  the  audience.  Thus  far  his  conduct  is 
a  mark  of  respect.     To  linger  in  their  presence  would  be  intrusion. 

I  have  only  to  repeat  that  I  avow  myself  in  print,  as  formerly 
in  words,  the  sole  and  unassisted  Author  of  all  the  Novels  pub- 
lished as  works  of  the  "  Author  of  Waverley."  I  do  this  without 
shame,  for  1  am  unconscious  that  there  is  anything  in  their  com- 
position which  deserves  reproach,  either  on  the  score  of  religion 
or  morality  ;  and  without  any  feeling  of  exultation,  because,  what- 
ever may  have  been  their  temporary  success,  I  am  well  aware  how 
much  their  reputation  depends  upon  the  caprice  of  fashion  ;  and  I 
have  already  mentioned  the  precarious  tenure  by  which  it  is  held 
as  a  reason  for  displaying  no  great  avidity  in  grasping  at  the  pos- 
session. 

1  ought  to  mention,  before  concluding,  that  twenty  persons,  at 
least,  were,  either  from  intimacy  or  from  the  confidence  which  cir- 
cumstances rendered  necessary,  participant  of  this  secret  ;  and  as 
there  was  no  instance,  to  my  knowledge,  of  any  one  of  the  number 
breaking  faith,  1  am  the  more  obliged  to  them,  because  the  slight 
and  trivial  character  of  the  mystery  was  not  qualified  to  inspire 
much  respect  in  those  intrusted  with  it.  Nevertheless,  like  Jack 
the  Giant-Killer,  I  was  fully  confident  in  the  advantage  of  my 
"  Coat  of  Darkness,"  and  had  it  not  been  from  compulsory  cir- 
cumstances I  would  indeed  have  been  very  cautious  how  I  parted 
with  it. 

As  for  the  work  which  follows,  it  was  meditated,  and  in  part 
printed,  long  before  the  avowal  of  the  Novels  took  place,  and  was 
originally  commenced  with  a  declaration  that  it  was  neither  to 
have  introduction  nor  preface  of  any  kind.  This  long  proem,  pre- 
fixed to  a  work  intended  not  to  have  any,  may,  however,  serve  to 
show  how  human  purposes,  in  the  most  trifling,  as  well  as  the  most 
im.portant  afl"airs,  are  liable  to  be  controlled  by  the  course  of 
events.  Thus,  we  begin  to  cross  a  strong  river  with  our  eyes  and 
our  resolution  fixed  on  that  point  of  the  opposite  shore  on  which 
we  purpose  to  land  ;  but,  gradually  giving  way  to  the  torrent,  are 
glad,  by  the  aid  perhaps  of  branch  or  bush,  to  extricate  ourselves 
at  some  distant  and  perhaps  dangerous  landing-place,  much  far- 
ther down  the  stream  than  that  on  which  we  had  fixed  our  inten- 
tions. 

Hoping  that  the  Courteous  Reader  will  afford  to  a  known  and 
familiar  acquaintance  some  portion  of  the  favor  which  he  extended 
to  a  disguised  candidate  for  his  applause,  I  beg  leave  to  subscribe 
myself  his  obliged,  humble  servant,  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Abbotsforu,  October  i,  1827. 


JNTRODUCTTON.  xiii 

Such  was  the  little  narrative  which  I  thought  proper  to  put  forth 
in  October,  1827  :  nor  have  I  much  to  add  to  it  now.  About  to 
appear  for  the  first  time  in  my  own  name  in  this  department  of 
letters,  it  occurred  to  me  that  something  in  the  shape  of  a  periodi- 
ca! publication  might  carry  with  it  a  certain  air  of  novelty,  and  I 
was  willing  to  break,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  the  abruptness  of  my 
personal  forthcoming,  by  investing  an  imaginary  coadjutor  with  at 
least  as  much  distinctness  of  individual  existence  as  I  had  ever 
previously  thought  it  worth  while  to  bestow  on  shadows  of  the  same 
convenient  tribe.  Of  course  it  had  never  been  in  my  contemplation 
to  invite  the  assistance  of  any  person  in  the  sustaining  of  my  quasi- 
editorial  character  and  labors.  It  had  long  been  my  opinion  that 
anything  like  a  literary //rw/V  is  likely  to  end  in  suggesting  com- 
parisons, justly  termed  odious,  and  therefore  to  be  avoided  :  and 
indeed,  I  had  also  had  some  occasion  to  know  that  promises  of  as- 
sistance in  efforts  of  that  order  are  apt  to  be  more  magnificent  than 
the  subsequent  performance.  I  therefore  planned  a  miscellany,  to 
be  dependent,  after  the  old  fashion,  on  my  own  resources  alone, 
and  although  conscious  enough  that  the  moment  which  assigned  to 
the  Author  of  Waverley  "  a  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  had 
seriously  endangered  his  spell,  I  felt  inclined  to  adopt  the  senti- 
ment of  my  old  hero,  Montrose,  and  to  say  to  myself  that,  in  litera- 
ture as  in  war, 

"  He  eilher  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

To  the  particulars  explanatory  of  the  plan  of  these  Chronicles 
which  the  reader  is  presented  with  in  Chapter  II.  by  the  imagi- 
nary Editor,  Mr.  Croftangry,  I  have  now  to  add,  that  the  lady, 
termed  in  his  narrative  Mrs.  Belhune  I3alioI,  was  designed  to 
shadow  out  in  its  leading  points  the  interesting  character  of  a  dear 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Murray  Keith,'  whose  death,  occurring 
shortly  before,  had  saddened  a  wide  circle,  much  attached  to  her 
as  well  for  her  genuine  virtue  and  amiable  qualities  of  disposition, 

*  The  Keiths  of  Craig,  in  Kincardineshire,  descended  from  [ohn  Keith, 
fourth  son  of  William,  second  Earl  Marischal,  who  got  from  his  father, 
about  1480,  the  lands  of  Craig,  and  part  of  Garvock,  in  that  county.  In 
Douglas's  Baronage,  443  to  445,  is  a  pedigree  of  that  family.  Colonel 
Robert  Keith  of  Craig  (the  seventh  in  d(-scent  from  [ohn),  by  his  wife  Agnes, 
daughter  of  Robert  Murray,  of  Murrayshall,  of  the  family  of  Blackbarony, 
widow  of  Colonel  Stirling,  of  the  family  of  Keir,  had  one  son — viz.,  Robert 
Keith  of  Craig,  ambassador  to  the  Court  of  Vienna,  afterward  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, which  latter  situatiim  he  held  at  the  accession  of  King  Gcorgi-  III. — 
who  died  at  Edinburgh  in  1774.  He  married  Margaret,  second  dnut;hter  of 
Sir  William  Cunningham  of  Caprington,  by  Janet,  only  child  and  heiress  of 
Sir  James  Dick  of  I'restonfield  ;  antl  among  other  children  of  this  marriage 
were  the  late  well-known  diplomatist.  Sir  Robert  Murray  Keith,  K.  R.,  a 
general  in  the  army,  and  for  some  time  ambassador  at  Vienna  ;  Sir  Basil 
Keith,  Knight,  captain  in  the  navy,  who  died  governor  of  Jamaica  ;  and  my 
e.\i:ellent  friend,  Anne  Murray  Keith,  who  ultimately  came  into  possession 
of  the  family  estates,  and  died  not  long  before  the  date  of  this  Introduction. 
(1831.) 


xiv  introduction: 

as  for  the  extent  of  information  which  she  possessed,  and  the  de- 
lightful manner  in  which  she  was  used  to  communicate  it.  In 
truth,  the  Author  had,  on  many  occasions,  been  indebted  to  her 
vivid  memory  for  the  substratutn  of  his  Scottish  fictions — and  she 
accordingly  had  been,  from  an  early  period,  at  no  loss  to  fix  the 
Waverley  Novels  on  the  right  culprit. 

In  the  sketch  of  Chrystal  Croftangry's  own  history  the  Author 
has  been  accused  of  introducing  some  not  polite  allusions  to  re- 
spectable living  individuals  ;  but  he  may  safely,  he  presumes,  pass 
over  such  an  insinuation.  The  first  of  the  narratives  which  Mr. 
Croftangry  proceeds  to  lay  before  the  public,  "  The  Highland 
Widow,"  was  derived  from  Mrs.  Murray  Keith,  and  is  given,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  additional  circumstances — the  introduction 
of  which  1  am  rather  inclined  to  regret— very  much  as  the  excel- 
lent old  lady  used  to  tell  the  story.  Neither  the  Highland  cicerone 
MacLeish,  nor  the  demure  waiting-woman,  were  drawn  from  im- 
agination ;  and  on  re-reading  my  tale,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few 
years,  and  comparing  its  effect  with  my  remembrance  of  my 
worthy  friend's  oral  narration,  which  was  certamly  extremely  af- 
fecting, I  cannot  but  suspect  myself  of  having  marred  its  simplicity 
by  some  of  those  interpolations  which,  at  the  time  when  I  penned 
them,  no  doubt  passed  with  myself  for  embellishments.* 

The  next  tale  (in  Vol.  XX.),  entitled  "  The  Two  Drovers,"  I 
learned  from  another  old  friend,  the  late  George  Constable,  Esq., 
of  Wallace  Craigie,  near  Dundee,  whom  I  have  already  introduced 
to  my  reader  as  the  original  Antiquary  of  Monkbarns.  He  had 
been  present,  I  think,  at  the  trial  at  Carlisle,  and  seldom  men- 
tioned the  venerable  Judge's  charge  to  the  jury  without  shedding 
tears,  which  had  peculiar  pathos,  as  flowing  down  features  carry- 
ing rather  a  sarcastic,  or  almost  a  cynical,  expression. 

This  worthy  gentleman's  reputation  for  shrewd  Scottish  sense, 
knowledge  of  our  national  antiquities,  and  a  racy  humor  peculiar 
to  himself,  must  be  still  remembered.  For  myself,  I  have  pride 
in  recording  that  for  many  years  we  were,  in  Wordsworth's 
language, 

—  a  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 
And  "  George  "  was  seventy-two. 

W.  S. 
Abbotsford,  Aug.  15,  1831 

*  [The  portraiture  of  Mrs.  Murray  Keith,  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  Bethune 
Briliol,  and  that  of  Chrystal  Croftangry  throughout,  appear  to  me  unsur- 
passed in  vScott's  writings.  In  the  former  I  am  assured  he  has  mixed  up  vari- 
ous features  of  his  own  beloved  mothir;  and  in  the  latter  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  a  good  deal  was  taken  from  nobody  but  himself.  In  fact  the 
choice  of  the  hero's  residence,  the  original  title  of  the  book,  and  a  world  of 
minor  circumstances,  were  suggested  by  the  actual  condition  and  prospects 
of  the  Author's  affairs  ;  for  it  appears  from  his  Diary  that,  between  Decem- 
ber, 1826,  and  November,  1827,  he  had  renewed  threatenings  of  severe  treat- 
ment from  one  of  his  creditors,  and  on  the  occasion  made  every  prepara- 
tion for  taking  shelter  in  the  Sanctuary  for  debt  at  Holyrood. — ^J.  G.  LocK- 

HAKT.] 


CHRONICLES   OF   THE   CANONGATE 


CHAPTER  FIRST. 

MR.    CHRYSTAL   CROFTANGRY's   ACCOUNT   OF    HIMSELF. 

Sic  itur  ad  astra — "  This  is  the  path  to  Heaven."  Such 
is  the  ancient  motto  attached  to  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
Canongate,  and  which  is  inscribed,  with  greater  or  less  propriety, 
upon  all  the  public  buildings,  from  the  church  to  the  pillory,  in 
the  ancient  quarter  of  Edinburgh,  which  bears,  or  rather  once 
bore,  the  same  relation  to  the  Good  Town  that  Westminster  does 
to  London,  being  still  possessed  of  the  palace  of  the  sovereign, 
as  it  formerly  was  dignified  by  the  residence  of  the  principal 
nobility  and  gentry.  I  may,  therefore,  with  some  propriety, 
put  the  same  motto  at  the  head  of  the  literary  undertaking  by 
which  I  hope  to  illustrate  the  hitherto  undistinguished  name  of 
Chrystal  Croftangry. 

The  public  may  desire  to  know  something  of  an  author  who 
pitches  at  such  height  his  ambitious  expectations.  The  gentle 
reader,  therefore — for  I  am  much  of  Captain  Bobadil's  humor, 
and  could  to  no  other  extend  myself  so  far — the  gentle  reader, 
then,  will  be  pleased  to  understand,  that  I  am  a  Scottish  gentle- 
man of  the  old  school,  with  a  fortune,  temper,  and  person,  rather 
the  worse  for  wear,  I  have  known  the  world  for  these  forty 
years,  having  written  myself  man  nearly  since  that  period — and 
I  do  not  think  it  is  much  mended.  But  this  is  an  opinion  which 
I  keep  to  myself  when  I  am  among  younger  folk,  for  I  recollect, 
x'n  my  youth,  quizzing  the  Sexagenarians  wlio  carried  back  their 
ideas  of  a  perfect  state  of  society  to  the  days  of  laced  coats  and 
triple  ruffles,  and  some  of  them  to  the  blood  and  blows  of  the 
Forty-five  :  therefore  I  am  cautious  in  exercising  the  right  of 
censorship,  which  is  sujDposed  to  be  acquired  by  men  arrived  at, 


jg  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE, 

or  approaching,  the  mysterious  period  of  life,  when  the  numbers 
of  seven  and  nine  multiplied  into  each  other,  form  what  sages 
have  termed  the  Grand  Climacteric. 

Of  the  earlier  part  of  m}'  life  it  is  only  necessary  to  say,  that 
I  swept  the  boards  of  the  Parliament  House  with  the  skirts  o/ 
my  gown  for  the  usual  number  of  years  during  which  young 
Lairds  were  in  my  time  expected  to  keep  term — got  no  fees- 
laughed,  and  made  others  laugh — drank  claret  at  Bayle's,  For- 
tune'r  raid  Walker's, — and  ate  oysters  in  the  Covenant  Ckse 

liecoming  my  own  master,  I  flung  my  gown  at  the  bar-keeper, 
and  commenced  gay  man  on  my  own  account.  In  Edinburgh,  I 
ran  into  all  the  expensive  society  which  the  place  then  afforded. 
When  I  went  to  my  house  in  the  shire  of  Lanark,  I  emulated 
to  the  utmost  the  expenses  of  men  of  large  fortune,  and  had  my 
hunters,  my  first-rate  pointers,  my  game-cocks,  and  feeders.  I 
can  more  easily  forgive  myself  for  these  follies,  than  for  others 
of  a  still  more  blamable  kind,  so  indifferently  cloaked  over,  that 
my  poor  mother  thought  herself  oblige  to  leave  my  habitation, 
and  betake  herself  to  a  small  inconvenient  jointure-house,  which 
she  occupied  till  her  death.  I  think,  however,  I  was  not  ex- 
clusively to  blame  in  this  separation,  and  I  believe  my  mother 
afterward  condemned  herself  for  being  too  hasty.  Thank  God, 
the  adversity  which  destroyed  the  means  of  continuing  my  dissi- 
pation restored  me  to  the  affections  of  my  surviving  parent. 

My  course  of  life  could  not  last.  I  ran  too  fast  to  run  long; 
and  when  I  would  have  checked  my  career,  I  was  perhaps  too 
near  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  Some  mishaps  I  prepared  by 
my  own  folly,  others  came  upon  me  unawares.  I  put  my  estate 
out  to  nurse  to  a  fat  man  of  business,  who  smothered  the  babe 
he  should  have  brought  back  to  me  in  health  and  strength,  and, 
in  dispute  with  this  honest  gentleman,  I  found,  like  a  skilful 
general,  that  my  position  would  be  most  judiciously  assumed, 
by  taking  it  up  near  the  Abbey  of  Holyrood.*  It  was  then  I 
first  became  acquainted  with  the  quarter,  which  my  little  work 
will,  I  hope,  render  immortal,  and  grew  familiar  with  those 
magnificent  wilds,  through  which  the  Kings  of  Scotland  once 
chased  the  dark -brown  deer,  but  which  were  chiefly  recommended 
to  me  in  those  days,  by  their  being  inaccessible  to  those  meta- 
physical persons,  whom  the  law  of  the  neighboring  country 
terms  John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe.  In  short,  the  precincts  of 
the  palace  are  now  best  known  as  being  a  place  of  refuge  at  a^.y 
time  from  all  pursuit  for  civil  debt. 

Dire  was  the  strife  betwixt  my  quondam  doer  and  mys'^V  ; 

*  Note  A,    S;iiictu:iry  of  Holyrood 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  ^ 

during  which  my  motions  were  circumscribed,  like  those  of 
some  conjured  demon,  within  a  circle,  which,  "  beginning  at  the 
nortliern  gate  of  the  King's  Park,  thence  running  northways,  is 
bounded  on  the  left  by  the  King's  garden  wall,  and  the  gutter, 
or  kennel,  in  a  line  wherewith  it  crosses  the  High  Street  to  the 
Watergate,  and  passing  through  the  sewer,  is  bounded  by  the 
walls  of  the  Tennis  Court  and  physic  Garden,  etc.  It  then 
follows  the  walls  of  the  churchyard,  joins  the  north-west  wall  of 
St.  Ann's  Yards,  and  going  east  to  the  clack  mill  house,  turns 
southward  to  the  turnstile  in  the  King's  Park  wall,  and  includes 
the  whole  King's  Park  within  the  Sanctuary." 

"  These  Hmits,  which  I  abridge  from  the  accurate  Maitland, 
once  marked  the  Girth  or  Asylum  belonging  to  the  Abbey  of 
Holyrood,  and  which,  being  still  an  appendage  to  the  royal 
palace,  has  retained  the  privilege  of  an  asylum  for  civil  debt. 
One  would  think  the  space  sufificently  extensive  for  a  man  to 
stretch  his  limbs  in,  as,  besides  a  reasonable  proportion  of  leve- 
ground  (considering  that  the  scene  lies  in  Scotland),  it  includes 
within  its  precincts  the  mountain  of  Arthur's  Seat,  and  the  rocks 
and  pasture  land  called  Salisbury  Crags.  But  yet  it  is  inexpres- 
sible how  after  a  certain  time  had  elapsed,  I  used  to  long  for 
Sunday,  which  permitted  me  to  extend  my  walk  without  limita- 
tion. During  the  other  six  days  of  the  week  I  felt  a  sickness 
of  heart,  which,  but  for  the  speedy  approach  of  the  hebdomadal 
da}''  of  liberty,  I  could  hardly  have  endured.  I  experienced  the 
impatience  of  a  mastiff,  who  tugs  in  vain  to  extend  the  limits 
which  his  chain  permits. 

Day  after  day  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  kennel  which 
divides  the  Sanctuary  from  the  unprivileged  part  of  the  Canon- 
gate  ;  and  though  the  month  was  July,  and  the  scene  the  old 
town  of  fxlinburgh,  I  preferred  it  to  the  fresh  air  and  verdant 
turf  which  I  might  have  enjoyed  in  the  King's  Park,  or  to  the 
cool  and  solemn  gloom  of  the  portico  which  surrounds  the 
palace.  To  an  indifferent  person  either  side  of  the  gutter  would 
have  seemed  much  the  same — the  houses  equally  mean,  the 
children  as  ragged  and  dirty,  the  carmen  as  brutal,  the  whole 
forming  the  same  picture  of  low  life  in  a  deserted  and  impov- 
erished quarter  of  a  large  city.  But  to  me  the  gutter  or  kennel 
was  what  the  brook  Kedron  was  to  Shimei ;  death  was  denounced 
against  him  should  he  cross  it,  doubtless  because  it  was  known 
to  his  wisdom  who  pronounced  the  doom,  that  from  the  time 
the  crossing  the  stream  was  debarred,  the  devoted  man's  desire 
to  transgress  the  precept  would  become  irresistible,  and  he  would 
be  sure  to  draw  down  on  his  head  the  penally  which  he  had 
already  justly  incurred  by  cursing  the  anointed  of  God.     Fot 


4'  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

my  part,  all  Elysium  seemed  opening  on  the  other  side  of  the 
kennel,  and  I  envied  the  little  blackguards,  who,  stopping  the 
current  with  their  little  damdikes  of  mud,  had  a  right  to  stand 
on  either  side  of  the  nasty  puddle  which  best  pleased  them.  I 
was  so  childish  as  even  to  make  an  occasional  excursion  across, 
were  it  only  for  a  few  yards,  and  felt  the  triumph  of  a  school- 
boy, who,  trespassing  in  an  orchard,  hurries  back  again  with 
a  fluttering  sensation  of  joy  and  terror,  betwixt  the  pleasure 
of  having  executed  his  purpose,  and  the  fear  of  being  taken  or 
discovered. 

I  have  sometimes  asked  myself,  what  I  should  have  done  in 
case  of  actual  Imprisonment,  since  I  could  not  bear  without 
impatience  a  restriction  which  is  comparatively  a  mere  trifle  ; 
but  I  really  could  never  answer  the  question  to  my  own  satis- 
faction. I  have  all  my  life  hated  those  treacherous  expedients 
called  7nezzo-tcrmini,  and  it  is  possible  with  this  disposition  I 
might  have  endured  more  patiently  an  absolute  privation  of 
liberty,  than  the  more  modified  restrictions  to  whish  my  resi- 
dence in  the  Sanctuary  at  this  period  subjected  me.  If,  however, 
the  feelings  I  then  experienced  were  to  increase  in  intensity 
according  to  the  difference  between  a  jail  and  my  actual  con- 
dition, I  must  have  hanged  myself,  or  pined  to  death  ;  there 
could  have  been  no  other  alternative. 

Amongst  many  companions  who  forgot  and  neglected  me  of 
course,  when  my  difficulties  seemed  to  be  inextricable,  I  had  one 
true  friend  ;  and  that  friend  was  a  barrister,  who  knew  the  lavv's 
of  his  country  well,  and  tracing  them  up  to  the  spirit  of  equity 
and  justice  in  which  they  originate,  had  repeatedly  prevented, 
by  his  benevolent  and  manly  exertions,  the  triumphs  of  selfish 
cunning  over  simplicity  and  folly.  He  undertook  my  cause, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  solicitor  of  a  character  similar  to  his 
own.  My  quondam  doer  had  ensconced  himself  chin-deep  among 
legal  trenches,  hornworks  and  covered  ways  ;  but  my  two  pro- 
tectors shelled  him  out  of  his  defences,  and  I  was  at  length  a 
free  man,  at  liberty  to  go  or  stay  wheresoever  my  mind  listed. 

I  left  my  lodgings  as  hastily  as  if  it  had  been  a  pest-house ; 
I  did  not  even  stop  to  receive  some  change  that  was  due  to  me 
on  settling  with  my  landlady,  and  I  saw  the  poor  woman  stand 
at  her  door  looking  after  my  precipitate  flight,  and  shaking  her 
head  as  she  wrapped  the  silver  which  she  was  counting  for  me 
in  a  separate  piece  of  paper  apart  from  the  store  in  her  own 
moleskin  purse.  An  honest  Highland  woman  was  Janet  Mac- 
Evoy,  and  deserved  a  greater  remuneration,  had  I  possessd  the 
power  of  bestowing  it.  But  my  eagerness  of  delight  was  too 
extreme  to  pause  for  explanation   with  Janet.     On  I  pushed 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONG ATE.  g 

through  the  groups  of  children,  of  whose  sports  I  had  been  so 
often  a  lazy  lounging  spectator.  I  sprung  over  the  gutter  as  if 
it  had  been  the  fatal  Styx,  and  I  a  ghost,  which,  eluding  Pluto's 
authority,  was  making  its  escape  from  Limbo  lake.  ]\Iy  friend 
had  difficulty  to  restrain  me  from  running  like  a  madman  up 
the  street ;  and  in  spite  of  his  kindness  and  hospitality,  which 
soothed  me  for  a  day  or  two,  I  was  not  quite  happy  until  I  found 
myself  aboard  of  a  Leith  smack,  and,  standing  down  the  Firth 
with  a  fair  wind,  might  snap  my  fingers  at  the  retreating  outline 
of  Arthur's  Seat,  to  the  vicinity  of  which  I  had  been  so  long 
confined. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  trace  my  future  progress  though  life. 
I  had  extricated  myself,  or  rather  had  been  freed  by  my  friends, 
from  the  brambles  and  thickets  of  the  law,  but,  as  befell  the 
sheep  in  the  fable,  a  great  part  of  my  fleece  was  left  behind  me. 
Something  remained,  however;  I  was  in  the  season  for  exertion, 
and  as  my  good  mother  used  to  say,  there  was  always  life  for 
living  folk.  Stern  necessity  gave  my  manhood  that  prudence 
which  my  youth  was  a  stranger  to.  I  faced  danger,  I  endured 
fatigue,  I  sought  foreign  climates,  and  proved  that  I  belonged 
to  the  nation  which  is  proverbially  patient  of  labor  and  prodigal 
of  life.  Independence,  like  liberty  to  Virgil's  shepherd,  came 
late,  but  came  at  last,  with  no  great  affluence  in  its  train,  but 
bringing  enough  to  support  a  decent  appearance  for  the  rest  of 
my  life,  and  to  induce  cousins  to  be  civil,  and  gossips  to  say, 
"I  wonder  who  old  Croft  will  make  his  heir.?  he  must  have 
picked  up  something,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  prove 
more  than  folk  think  of," 

My  first  impulse  when  I  returned  home  was  to  rush  to  the 
house  of  my  benefactor,  the  only  man  who  had  in  my  distress 
interested  himself  in  my  behalf.  He  was  a  snuff-taker,  and  it 
had  been  the  pride  of  my  heart  to  save  the  ipsa  corpora  of  the 
first  score  of  guineas  I  could  hoard,  and  to  have  them  converted 
into  as  tasteful  a  snuff-box  as  Rundell  and  Bridge  could  devise. 
This  I  had  thrust  for  security  into  the  breast  of  my  waistcoat, 
while,  impatient  to  transfer  it  to  the  person  for  whom  it  was 
destined,  I  hastened  to  his  house  in  Brown's  Square.  When 
the  front  of  the  house  became  visible,  a  feeling  of  ahirm  checked 
me,  I  had  been  long  absent  from  Scotland,  my  friend  was 
some  years  older  than  I  ;  he  might  have  been  called  to  the 
congregation  of  the  just.  I  paused,  and  gazed  on  the  house, 
as  if  I  had  hoped  to  form  some  conjecture  from  the  outward 
appearance  concerning  the  state  of  the  family  within.  I  know 
not  how  it  was,  but  the  lower  windows  being  all  closed  and  no 
one  stirring,  my  sinister  forebodings  were  rather  strengthened. 


6  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE, 

I  regretted  now  that  I  had  not  made  inquiry  before  I  left  the 
inn  where  I  alighted  from  the  mail-coach.  But  it  was  too  late; 
so  I  hurried  on,  eager  to  know  the  best  or  the  worst  which  I 
could  learn. 

The  brass  plate  bearing  my  friend's  name  and  designation 
was  still  on  the  door,  and  when  it  was  opened,  the  old  domestic 
appeared  a  good  deal  older,  I  thought,  than  he  ought  naturally 
to  have  looked  considering  the  period  of  my  absence.  "  Is  Mr 
Sommerville  at  home  ? "  said  I,  pressing  forward. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  John,  placing  himself  in  opposition  to  my 
entrance,  "  he  is  at  home,  but " 

"  But  he  is  not  in,"  said  I.  "  I  remember  your  phrase  of 
old,  John.  Come,  I  will  step  into  his  room,  and  leave  a  line  for 
him." 

John  was  obviously  embarrassed  by  my  familiarity.  I  was 
some  one,  he  saw,  whom  he  ought  to  recollect,  at  the  same  time 
it  was  evident  he  remembered  nothing  about  me. 

"  Ay,  sir,  my  master  is  in,  and  in  his  own  room,  but  " 

I  would  not  hear  him  out,  but  passed  before  him  toward 
the  well-known  apartment.  A  young  lady  came  out  of  the 
room  a  little  disturbed,  as  it  seemed,  and  said,  "  John,  what  is 
the  matter  ? " 

"  A  gentleman,  Miss  Nelly,  that  insists  on  seeing  my 
master." 

"  A  very  old  and  deeply  indebted  friend,"  said  I,  "  that  ven- 
tures to  press  myself  on  my  much-respected  benefactor  on  my 
return  from  abroad." 

"Alas,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  my  uncle  would  be  happy  to  see 
you,  but " 

At  this  moment,  something  was  heard  within  the  apartment 
like  the  falling  of  a  plate,  or  glass,  and  immediately  after  my 
friend's  voice  called  angrily  and  eagerly  for  his  niece.  She  en- 
tered the  room  hastily,  and  so  did  I.  But  it  was  to  see  a 
spectacle,  compared  with  which  that  of  my  benefactor  stretched 
on  his  bier  would  have  been  a  happy  one. 

The  easy  chair  filled  with  cushions,  the  extended  limbs 
swathed  in  flannel,  the  wide  wrapping-gown  and  night-cap, 
showed  illness  ;  but  the  dimmed  eye,  once  so  replete  with  liv- 
ing fire,  the  blabber  lip,  whose  dilation  and  compression  used 
to  give  such  character  to  his  animated  countenance, — the  stam- 
mering tongue,  that  once  poured  forth  such  floods  of  masculine 
eloquence,  and  had  often  swayed  the  opinion  of  the  sages  whom 
he  addressed, — all  these  sad  symptoms  evinced  that  my  friend 
w^as  in  the  melancholy  condition  of  those,  in  whom  the  principle 
of  animal  life  has  unfortunately  survived  that  of  mental  intelli- 


CHROmCLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  ij 

gence.  He  gazed  a  moment  at  me,  but  then  seemed  insensible; 
of  my  presence,  and  went  on — he,  once  the  most  courteous  and 
well-bred  ! — to  babble  unintelligible  but  violent  reproaches 
against  his  niece  and  sen-ant,  because  he  himself  had  dropped 
a  teacup  in  attempting  to  place  it  on  a  table  at  his  elbow.  His 
eyes  caught  a  momentary  fire  from  his  irritation  ;  but  he  strug- 
gled in  vain  for  words  to  express  himself  adequately,  as  looking 
from  his  servant  to  his  niece,  and  then  to  the  table,  he  labored 
to  explain  that  they  had  placed  it  (though  it  touched  his  chair) 
at  too  great  a  distance  from  him. 

The  young  person,  who  had  naturally  a  resigned  Madonna- 
like expression  of  countenance,  listened  to  his  impatient  chid- 
ing with  the  most  humble  submission,  checked  the  servant, 
whose  less  delicate  feelings  would  have  entered  on  his  justifica- 
tion, and  gradually,  by  the  sweet  and  soft  tone  of  her  voice, 
soothed  to  rest  the  spirit  of  causeless  irritation. 

She  then  cast  a  look  toward  me,  which  expressed,  "  You  see 
all  that  remains  of  him  whom  you  call  friend."  It  seemed  also 
to  sav,  "  Your  longer  presence  here  can  only  be  distressing  to 
us  all" 

"Forgive  me,  young  lady,"  I  said,  as  well  as  tears  would 
permit;  "  I  am  a  person  deeply  obliged  to  your  uncle.  My 
name  is  Croftangry." 

"  Lord  !  and  that  I  should  not  hae  minded  ye,  Maister  Croft- 
angry," said  the  servant.  "  Ay,  I  mind  my  master  had  muckle 
fash  about  your  job.  I  hae  heard  him  order  in  fresh  candles  as 
midnight  chappit,  and  till't  again.  Indeed,  ye  had  aye  his  gude 
word,  Mr.  Croftangry,  for  a'  that  folks  said  about  you." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  John,"  said  the  lady,  somewhat  angrily  ; 
and  then  continued,  addressing  herself  to  me,  "  I  am  sure,  sir, 
you  must  be  sorry  to  see  my  uncle  in  this  state.  I  know  you 
are  his  friend.  I  have  heard  him  mention  your  name,  and 
wonder  he  never  heard  from  you."  A  new  cut  this,  and  it 
went  to  my  heart.  But  she  continued,  "  I  really  do  not  know 
if  it  is  right  that  any  should — I  f  my  uncle  should  know  you, 
which  I  scarce  think  possible,  he  would  be  much  affected,  and 

the  doctor  says  that  any  agitation But  here  comes  Dr. ■ 

to  give  his  own  opinion." 

Dr. entered,     I  had  left  him   a  middle-aged  man  ;  he 

was  now  an  elderly  one  ;  but  still  the  same  benevolent  Samari- 
tan, who  went  about  doing  good,  and  thought  the  blessings  of 
the  poor  as  good  a  recompense  of  his  professional  skill  as  the 
gold  of  the  rich. 

He  looked  at  me  with  surj^rise,  but  the  young  lady  said  a 
word  of  introduction,  and  I,  who  was  known  to  the  doctor  for- 


8  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGA  TE. 

merly,  hastened  to  complete  it.  He  recollected  me  perfectly, 
and  intimated  that  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  reasons  1 
had  for  being  deeply  interested  in  the  fate  of  his  patient.  He 
gave  me  a  very  melancholy  account  of  my  poor  friend,  drawing 
me  for  that  purpose  a  liiile  apart  from  the  lady.  "The  light 
of  life,"  he  said,  "was  trembling  in  the  socket;  he  scarcely  ex- 
pected it  would  ever  leap  up  even  into  a  momentary  flash,  but 
more  was  impossible."  He  then  stepped  toward  his  patient  and 
put  some  questions,  to  which  the  poor  invalid,  though  he  seemed 
to  recognize  the  friendly  and  familiar  voice,  answered  only  in  a 
faltering  and  uncertain  manner. 

The  young,  lady,  in  her  turn,  had  drawn  back  when  the  doctor 
approached  his  patient.  "  You  see  how  it  is  with  him," 
said  the  doctor,  addressing  me  ;  "  I  have  heard  our  poor  friend 
in  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  his  pleadings,  give  a  description 
of  this  very  disease,  which  he  compared  to  tlie  tortures  inflicted 
by  Mezentius,  when  he  chained  the  dead  to  the  living.  The 
soul,  he  said,  is  imprisoned  in  its  dungeon  of  flesh,  and  though 
retaining  its  natural  and  inalienable  properties,  can  no  more 
exert  them  than  the  captive  enclosed  within  a  prison-house  can 
act  as  a  free  agent.  Alas  !  to  see  /lim,  who  could  so  well  de- 
scribe what  this  malady  was  in  others,  a  prey  himself  to  its  in- 
firmities !  I  shall  never  forget  the  solemn  tone  of  expression 
with  which  he  summed  up  the  incapacities  of  the  paralytic, — ■ 
the  deafened  ear,  the  dimmed  eye,  the  crippled  limbs, — in  the 
noble  words  of  Juvenal — ■ 


Membroruin  damno  major,  dementia,  quae  nee 
Nomina  servoriun,  nee  vultum  agnoscit  amici.' " 

As  the  physician  repeated  these  lines,  a  flash  of  intelligenct 
seemed  to  revive  in  the  invalid's  eyes — sunk  again — again 
struggled,  and  he  spoke  more  intelligibly  than  before,  and  in 
the  tone  of  one  eager  to  say  something  which  he  felt  would 
ascape  him  unless  said  instantly.  "  A  question  of  deathbed,  a 
question  of  deathbed,  doctor — a  reduction  es-  capite  Iccti — 
Withering  against  Wilibus — about  the  morbus  sonfkus.  I 
pleaded  the  cause  for  the  pursuer — I,  and — and — Why,  I  shall 
forget  my  own  Tiame — I,  and — he  that  was  the  wittiest  and  the 
best-humored  man   living  " 

The  description  enabled  the  doctor  to  fill  up  the  blank,  and 
the  patient  joyfully  repeated  the  name  suggested.     "  Ay,  ay," 

he  said,  "just  he — Harry — poor  Harry  " The  light  in  his 

eye  died  awa}',  and  he  sunk  back  in  his  easy  chair. 

"  You  have  now  seen  more  of  our  poor  friend,  Mr.  Croft 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGA  TE. 


9 


angry,"  said  the  physician,  "  than  I  dared  venture  to  promise 
you,  and  now  I  must  take  my  professional  authority  on  me, 
and  ask  you  to  retire.  Miss  Sommerville  will,  I  am  sure,  let 
you  know  if  a  moment  should  by  any  chance  occur  when  her 
uncle  can  see  you." 

What  could  I  do  ?  I  gave  my  card  to  the  young  lady,  and, 
taking  my  offering  from  my  bosom — "  If  my  poor  friend,"  J 
said,  with  accents  as  broken  ahnost  as  his  own,  "  should  ask 
where  this  came  from,  name  me;  and  say  from  the  most  obliged 
and  most  grateful  man  alive.  Say.  the  gold  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed was  saved  by  grains  at  a  time,  and  was  hoarded  with  as 
much  avarice  as  ever  was  a  miser's  : — to  bring  it  here  I  have 
come  a  thousand  miles,  and  now,  alas,  I  find  him  thus  !  " 

I  laid  the  box  on  the  table,  and  was  retiring  with  a  linger- 
ing step.  The  eye  of  the  invalid  was  caught  by  it,  as  that  of 
a  child  by  a  glittering  toy,  and  with  infantine  impatience  he 
faltered  out  inquiries  of  his  niece.  With  gentle  mildness  she 
repeated  again  and  again  who  I  was,  and  why  I  came,  etc.  I 
was  about  to  turn,  and  hasten  from  a  scene  so  painful,  when  the 
physician  laid  his  hand  on  my  sleeve — "Stop,"  he  said,  "there 
is  a  change." 

There  was  indeed,  and  a  marked  one.  A  faint  glow  sf^read 
over  his  pallid  features — they  seemed  to  gain  the  look  of  intel- 
ligence which  belongs  to  vitality — his  eye  once  more  kindled — 
his  lip  colored — and  drawing  himself  up  out  of  the  listless 
posture  he  had  hitherto  maintained,  he  rose  without  assistance. 
The  doctor  and  the  servant  ran  to  give  him  their  support.  He 
waved  them  aside,  and  they  were  contented  to  place  themselves 
in  such  a  position  behind  as  might  ensure  against  accident, 
should  his  newly  acquired  strength  decay  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
revived. 

"  My  dear  Croftangry,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  kindness  of 
other  days,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  returned — You  find  me  but 

poorly — but  my  little  niece  here  and  Dr. are  very  kind — 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend  !  we  shall  not  meet  again  till  we 
meet  in  a  better  world." 

I  pressed  his  extended  hand  to  my  lips — I  pressed  it  to  my 
bosom — I  would  fain  have  flung  myself  on  my  knees  ;  but  the 
doctor,  leaving  the  patient  to  tlie  young  lady  and  the  servant, 
who  wheeled  forward  his  chair,  and  were  replacing  him  in  it, 
hurried  me  out  of  the  room.  "My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "you 
ought  te  be  satisfied  ;  you  have  seen  our  poor  invalid  more  like 
his  former  self  than  he  has  been  for  months,  or  than  he  may 
be  perhaps  again  until  all  is  over.  The  whole  Faculty  could  not 
have  assured  such  an  interval — I  must  see  whether  anything 


lO  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

can  be  derived  from  it  to  improve  the  general  health — Pray, 
begone."  The  last  argument  luirried  me  from  the  spoi,  agitated 
by  a  crowd  of  feelings,  all  of  them  painful. 

When  I  had  overcome  the  shock  of  this  great  disappointment, 
I  renewed  gradually  my  acquaintance  with  one  or  two  old  com- 
panions, who,  though  of  infinitely  less  interest  to  my  feelings 
than  my  unfortunaie  friend,  served  to  relieve  the  pressure  of 
actual  solitude,  and  who  were  not  perhaps  the  less  open  to  my 
advances,  that  I  was  a  bachelor  somewhat  stricken  in  j'ears, 
newly  arrived  from  foreign  parts,  and  certainly  independent,  if 
not  wealthy. 

I  was  considered  as  a  tolerable  subject  of  speculation  by  some, 
and  I  could  not  be  burdensome  to  any ;  I  was  therefore,  accord- 
ing to  the  ordinary  rule  of  Edinburgh  hospitality,  a  welcome 
guest  in  several  respectable  families  ;  but  I  found  no  one  who 
could  replace  the  loss  I  had  sustained  in  my  best  friend  and 
benefactor.  I  wanted  something  more  than  mere  companion- 
ship could  give  me,  and  where  was  I  to  look  for  it  ? — among 
the  scattered  remnants  of  those  that  had  been  my  gay  friends 
of  yore  ? — alas  ! 

Many  a  lad  I  loved  was  dead, 
And  many  a  lass  grown  old. 

Besides  nil  community  of  ties  between  us  had  ceased  to  exist, 
and  such  of  former  friends  as  were  still  in  the  world,  held  their 
life  in  a  different  tenor  from  what  I  did. 

Some  had  become  misers,  and  were  as  eager  in  saving  six- 
pence as  ever  they  had  been  in  spending  a  guinea.  Some  had 
turned  agriculturists — their  talk  was  of  oxen,  and  they  were 
only  fit  companions  for  graziers.  Some  stuck  to  cards,  and 
though  no  longer  deep  gamblers,  rather  played  small  game  than 
sat  out.  This  I  particularly  despised.  The  strong  impulse  of 
gaming,  alas  !  I  had  felt  in  my  time — it  is  as  intense  as  it  is 
criminal ;  but  it  produces  excitation  and  interest,  and  I  can 
conceive  how  it  should  become  a  passion  with  strong  and 
powerful  minds.  But  to  dribble  away  life  in  exchanging  bits 
of  painted  pasteboard  round  a  green  table,  for  the  piddling 
concern  of  a  few  shillings,  can  only  be  excused  in  folly  or 
superannuntion.  It  is  like  riding  on  a  rocking-horse,  where 
your  utmost  exertion  never  carries  you  a  foot  forward ;  it  is  a 
kind  of  mental  treadmill,  where  you  are  perpetually  climbing, 
but  can  never  rise  an  inch.  From  these  hints,  my  readers 
will  perceive  I  am  incapacitated  for  one  of  the  pleasures  of  old 
age,  which,  though  not  mentioned  by  Cicero,  is  not  the  least 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  n 

frequent  resource  in  the  present  day, — the  ckib-room,  and  the 
snug  hand  at  whist. 

To  return  to  my  old  companions  :  Some  frequented  public 
assemblies,  like  the  ghost  of  Beau  Nash,  or  any  other  beau  of 
half-a-century  back,  thrust  aside  by  tittering  youth,  and  pitied 
by  those  of  their  own  age.  In  fine,  some  went  into  devotion, 
as  the  French  term  it,  and  others,  I  fear,  went  to  the  devil ;  a 
few  found  resources  in  science  and  letters  ;  one  or  two  turned 
philosophers  in  a  small  way,  peeped  into  microscopes,  and  be- 
came familiar  with  the  fashionable  experiments  of  the  day, 
Some  took  to  reading,  and  I  was  one  of  them. 

Some  grains  of  repulsion  toward  the  society  around  me — 
some  painful  recollections  of  early  faults  and  follies — some 
touch  of  displeasure  with  living  mankind,  inclined  me  rather  to 
a  study  of  antiquities,  and  particularly  those  of  my  own  country. 
The  reader,  if  I  can  prevail  on  myself  to  continue  the  present 
work,  will  probably  be  able  to  judge,  in  the  course  of  it,  whether 
I  have  made  any  useful  progress  in  the  study  of  the  olden 
times. 

I  owed  this  turn  of  study,  in  part,  to  the  conversation  of  my 
kind  man  of  business,  Mr.  Fairscribe,  whom  I  mentioned  as 
having  seconded  the  efforts  of  my  invaluable  friend,  in  bringing 
the  cause  on  which  my  liberty  and  the  remnant  of  my  property 
depended,  to  a  favorable  decision.  He  had  given  me  a  most 
kind  reception  on  my  return.  He  was  too  much  engaged  in 
his  profession  for  me  to  intrude  on  him  often,  and  perhaps  his 
mind  was  too  much  trammeled  with  its  details  to  permit  his 
being  willingly  withdrawn  from  them.  In  short,  he  was  not  a 
person  of  my  poor  friend  Sommerville's  expanded  spirit,  and 
rather  a  lawyer  of  the  ordinary  class  of  formalists  ;  but  a  most 
able  and  excellent  man.  When  my  estate  was  sold,  he  retained 
some  of  the  older  title-deeds,  arguing,  from  his  own  feelings, 
that  they  would  be  of  more  consequence  to  the  heir  of  the  old 
family  than  to  the  new  purchaser.  And  when  I  returned  to 
Edinburgh,  and  found  him  still  in  the  exercise  of  the  profession 
to  which  he  was  an  honor,  he  sent  to  my  lodgings  the  old  family 
Bible,  which  lay  always  on  my  father's  table,  two  or  three  other 
mouldy  volumes,  and  a  couple  of  sheep-skin  bags,  full  of 
parchment  and  papers  whose  appearance  was  by  no  means 
inviting. 

The  next  time  I  shared  Mr.  Fairscribe's  hospitable  dinner, 
T  failed  not  to  return  him  due  thanks  for  his  kindness,  which 
acknowledgment,  indeed,  I  proportioned  rather  to  the  idea 
which  I  knew  he  entertained  of  the  value  of  such  things,  than 
to  the  interest  with  which  I  myself  regarded  them.     But  the 


12  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

conversation  turning  on  my  family,  who  were  old  proprietors 
in  the  Upper  Ward  of  Clydesdale,  gradually  excited  some  in- 
terest in  my  mind;  and  when  I  retired  to  my  solitary  parlor, 
the  first  tiling  I  did  was  to  look  for  a  pedigree,  or  a  sort  of  his- 
tory of  the  family,  or  House  of  Croftangry,  once  of  that  Ilk, 
latterly  of  Glentanner.  The  discoveries  which  I  made  shall 
enrich  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER   SECOND. 

IN   WHICH    MR.    CROFTANGRY   CONTINUES    HIS   STORY. 

"  What's  property,  dear  Swift  ?     I  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Waiter." 

Pope. 

"Croftangry — Croftangrew — Croftanridge — Croftandgrey 
— for  sa  mony  wise  hath  the  name  been  spellit — is  weel  known 
to  be  ane  house  of  grit  antiquity  ;  and  it  is  said  that  King  Mil- 
columb,  or  Malcolm,  being  the  first  of  our  Scottish  princes  quha 
removit  across  the  Firth  of  Forth,  did  reside  and  occupy  ane 
palace  at  Edinburgh,  and  had  there  ane  valziant  man,  who  did 
him  man-service,  by  keeping  the  croft,  or  corn  land,  which  was 
tilled  for  the  convenience  of  the  King's  household,  and  was 
thence  callet  Croft-an-righ,  that  is  to  ^z.\\  the  King  his  croft  ; 
quhilk  place,  though  now  coverit  with  biggins,  is  to  this  day 
called  Croftangry,  and  lyeth  near  to  the  royal  palace.  And 
whereas  that  some  of  those  who  bear  this  auld  and  honorable 
name  may  take  scorn  that  it  ariseth  from  the  tilling  of  the  ground, 
quhilk  men  account  a  slavish  occupation,  yet  we  ought  to  honor 
the  pleugh  and  spade,  seeing  we  all  derive  our  being  from  our 
father  Adam,  whose  lot  it  became  to  cultivate  the  earth,  in  re- 
spect of  his  fall  and  transgression. 

"  Also  we  have  witness,  as  weel  in  holy  writt  as  in  profane 
history,  of  the  honor  in  quhilk  husbandrie  was  held  of  old, 
and  how  prophets  have  been  taken  from  the  pleugh,  and  great 
captains  raised  up  to  defend  their  ain  countries,  sic  as  Cincin- 
natus,  and  the  like,  who  fought  not  the  common  enemy  with 
the  less  valiancy  that  their  arms  had  been  exercised  in  balding 
the  stilts  of  the  pleugh,  and  their  billicose  skill  in  driving  of 
yauds  and  owsen. 

*'  Likewise  there  are  sindry  honorable  families,  quhilk  are 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  13 

now  of  our  native  Scottish  nobility,  and  have  clombe  higher  up 
the  brae  of  preferment  than  what  this  house  of  Croftangry  hath 
done,  quhilk  shame  not  to  carry  in  their  warHke  shield  and  in- 
signia of  dignity,  the  tools  and  implements  the  quhilk  their 
first  forefathers  exercised  in  laboring  the  croft-rig,  or,  as  the 
poet  Virgilius  calleth  it  eloquently,  in  subduing  the  soil.  And 
no  doubt  this  ancient  house  of  Croftangry,  while  it  continued  to 
be  called  of  that  Ilk,  produced  many  worshipful  and  famous 
patriots,  of  quhom  I  now  praetermit  the  names ;  it  being  my 
purpose,  if  God  shall  spare  me  life  for  sic  an  pious  ofhcium,  or 
duty  to  resume  the  first  part  of  my  narrative  touching  the 
house  of  Croftangry,  when  I  can  set  down  at  length  the  evi- 
dents,  and  historical  witness  anent  the  facts  which  I  shall  allege, 
seeing  that  words,  when  they  are  unsupported  by  proofs,  are 
like  seed  sown  on  the  naked  rocks,  or  like  an  house  biggit  on 
the  flitting  and  faithless  sands." 

Here  I  stopped  to  draw  breath  ;  for  the  style  of  my  grandsire, 
the  inditer  of  this  goodly  matter,  was  rather  lengthy,  as  our 
American  friends  say.  Indeed,  I  reserve  the  rest  of  the  piece 
until  I  can  obtain  admission  to  the  Bannatyne  Club,*  when  I 
propose  to  throw  off  an  edition,  limited  according  to  the  rules 
of  that  erudite  Society,  with  a  facsimile  of  the  manuscript, 
emblazonry  of  the  family  arms,  surrounded  by  their  quartering, 
and  a  handsome  disclamation  of  family  pride,  with  Hcec  Jios 
?iovitnus  esse  nihil,  or  Vix  ea  nostra  voco. 

In  the  meantime,  to  speak  truth,  I  cannot  but  suspect,  that 
though  my  worthy  ancestor  puffed  vigorously  to  swell  up  the 
dignity  of  his  family,  we  have  never,  in  fact,  risen  above  the 
rank  of  middling  proprietors.  The  estate  of  Glantanner  came 
to  us  by  the  intermarriage  of  my  ancestor  with  Tib  Sommeril, 
termed  by  the  Southrons  Sommerville,t  a  daughter  of  that  noble 
house,  but  I  fear  on  what  my  great-grandsire  calls  "  the  wrong 
side  of  the  blanket."     Her  husband,  Gilbert,  was  killed  fight- 


*  This  Club  of  which  the  Author  of  Waverley  has  the  honor  to  be  Pres- 
ident, was  instituted  in  February  1823,  for  the  purpose  of  printing  and 
pubhshing  works  illustrative  of  the  history,  literature,  and  antiquities  of 
Scotland.  It  continues  to  prosper,  and  has  already  rescued  from  oblivion 
many  curious  materials  of  Scottish  Histo.y.  [The  Bannatyne  Club  was 
dissolved  in  1861.  See  the  volume  of  "  Adversaria,"  presented  in  1867  to 
the  members  by  Mr.  Laing,  the  secretary.] 

t  The  ancient  Norman  family  of  the  Sommervilles  came  into  this  island 
with  William  the  Conqueror,  and  established  one  branch  in  Cloucestershire, 
another  in  Scotland.  After  the  lapse  of  700  years,  the  remaining  posses- 
sions of  these  two  branches  were  united  in  the  person  of  the  late  Lord 
Sommerville,  on  the  death  of  his  English  kinsman,  the  well-known  author 
of  "  The  Chase." 


J  4  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  C AMONG  ATE. 

ing  as  the  Inquisitio  post  7nortem  has  it,  "  sub  vexillo  regis^ 
apiid prceliian  jnxta  Branxto/i,  lie  F/oddenJieldJ' 

We  had  our  share  in  other  national  misfortunes — were  for- 
feited, Hke  Sir  John  Colville  of  the  Dale,  for  following  oui 
betters  to  the  field  of  Langside  ;  and,  in  the  contentious  times 
of  the  last  Stewarts,  we  were  severely  fined  for  harboring  and 
resetting  intercommuned  ministers ;  and  narrowly  escaped 
giving  a  martyr  to  the  Calendar  of  the  Covenant,  in  the  person 
of  the  father  of  our  family  historian.  He  "  took  the  sheaf 
from  the  mare,"  however,  as  the  MS.  expresses  it,  and  agreed 
to  accept  of  the  tenns  of  pardon  offered  by  government,  and 
sign  the  bond,  in  evidence  he  would  give  no  further  ground  of 
offence.  My  grandsire  glosses  over  his  father's  backsliding  as 
smoothly  as  he  can,  and  comforts  himself  with  ascribing  his 
want  of  resolution  to  his  unwillingness  to  wreck  the  ancient 
name  and  family,  and  to  permit  his  lands  and  lineage  to  fall 
under  a  doom  of  forfeiture. 

"  And  indeed,"  said  the  venerable  compiler,  "  as,  praised 
be  God,  we  seldom  meet  in  Scotland  with  these  belly-gods  and 
voluptuaries,  whilk  are  unnatural  enough  to  devour  their  patri- 
mony bequeathed  to  them  by  their  forbears  in  chambering  and 
wantonness,  so  that  they  come,  with  the  prodigal  son,  to  the 
husks  and  the  swine-trough  ;  and  as  I  have  the  less  to  dreid 
the  existence  of  such  unnatural  Neroes  in  mine  own  family  to 
devour  the  substance  of  their  own  house  like  brute  beasts  out 
of  mere  gluttonie  and  Epicurishnesse,  so  I  need  only  warn  mine 
descendants  against  over  hastily  meddling  with  the  mutations 
in  state  and  in  religion,  which  have  been  near-hand  to  the 
bringing  this  poor  house  of  Croftangry  to  perdition,  as  we  have 
shown  more  than  once.  And  albeit  I  would  not  that  my  suc- 
cessors sat  still  altogether  when  called  on  by  their  duty  to 
Kirk  and  King ;  yet  I  would  have  them  wait  till  stronger  and 
wealthier  men  than  themselves  were  up,  so  that  either  they 
may  have  the  better  chance  of  getting  through  the  day ;  or, 
failing  of  that,  the  conquering  party  having  some  fatter  quarry 
to  live  upon,  like  gorged  hawks,  spare  the  smaller  game." 

There  was  something  in  this  conclusion  which  at  first  read- 
ing piqued  me  extremely,  and  I  was  so  unnatural  as  to  curse 
the  whole  concern,  as  poor,  bald,  pitiful  trash,  in  which  a  silly 
old  man  was  saying  a  great  deal  about  nothing  at  all.  Nay,  my 
first  impression  was  to  thrust  it  into  the  fire,  the  rather  that  it  re- 
minded me,  in  no  very  flattering  manner,  of  the  loss  of  the 
family  property,  to  which  the  compiler  of  the  history  was  so 
much  attached,  in  the  very  manner  which  he  most  severely  rep- 
robated.    It  even  seemed  to  my  aggrieved  feelings,  that  his 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANOXGATE.  %■! 

unprescient  gaze  on  futurity,  in  wliich  he  could  not  anticipate 
the  folly  of  one  of  his  descendants,  who  should  throw  away  the 
whole  inheritance  in  a  few  years  of  idle  expense  and  folly,  was 
meant  as  a  personal  incivility  to  myself,  though  written  fifty  or 
sixty  years  before  I  was  born. 

A  little  reflection  made  me  ashamed  of  this  feeling  of  impa- 
tience, and  as  I  looked  at  the  even,  concise,  yet  tremulous  hand 
in  which  the  manuscript  was  written,  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing, according  to  an  opinion  I  have  heard  seriously  maintained, 
that  something  of  a  man's  character  may  be  conjectured  from 
his  handwriting.  That  neat,  but  crowded  and  constrained 
small  hand,  argued  a  man  of  a  good  conscience,  well-regulated 
passions,  and,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  an  upright  walk  in  life ; 
but  it  also  indicated  narrowness  of  spirit,  inveterate  prejudice, 
and  hinted  at  some  degree  of  intolerance,  which,  though  not 
natural  to  the  disposition,  had  arisen  out  of  a  limited  educa- 
tion. The  passages  from  Scripture  and  the  classics,  rather 
profusely  than  happily  introduced,  and  written  in  a  half-text 
character  to  mark  their  importance,  illustrated  that  peculiar 
sort  of  pedantry,  which  always  considered  the  argument  as 
gained,  if  secured  by  a  quotation.  Then  the  flourished  capital 
letters,  which  ornamented  the  commencement  of  each  para- 
graph, and  the  name  of  his  family  and  of  his  ancestors, 
whenever  these  occurred  in  the  page,  do  they  not  express 
forcibly  the  pride  and  sense  of  importance  with  which  the 
author  undertook  and  accomplished  his  task  ?  I  persuaded 
myself,  the  whole  was  so  complete  a  portrait  of  the  man, 
that  it  would  not  have  been  a  more  undutiful  act  to  have  de- 
faced his  picture,  or  even  to  have  disturbed  his  bones  in  his 
cofhn,  than  to  destroy  his  manuscript.  I  thought,  for  a  moment, 
of  presenting  it  to  Mr.  Fairscribe ;  but  that  confounded  passage 
about  the  prodigal  and  swine-trough — I  settled  at  last  it  was  as 
well  to  lock  it  up  in  my  own  bureau,  with  the  Intention  to  look 
at  it  no  more. 

But  I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  that  the  subject  began  to  sit 
nearer  my  heart  than  I  was  aware  of,  and  I  found  myself  re- 
peatedly engaged  in  reading  descriptions  of  farms  which  were 
no  longer  mine,  and  boundaries  which  marked  the  property 
of  others.  A  love  of  the  tiatale  solum,  if  Swift  be  right  in  trans- 
lating these  words  "  family  estate,"  began  to  awaken  in  my 
bosom  ;  the  recollections  of  my  own  youth  adding  little  to  it, 
save  what  was  connected  with  field-sports.  A  career  of  pleasure 
is  unfavorable  for  acquiring  a  taste  for  natural  beauty,  and 
still  more  so  for  forming  associations  of  a  sentimental  kind, 
connecting  us  with  the  inanimate  objects  around  us. 


i6  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATR. 

I  had  thought  Utile  about  my  estate,  while  I  possessed  and 
was  wasting  it,  unless  as  affording  the  rude  materials  out  of 
which  a  certain  inferior  race  of  creatures,  called  tenants,  were 
bound  to  produce  (in  a  greater  quantity  than  they  actually  did) 
a  certain  return  called  rent,  which  was  destined  to  supply  my 
expenses.  This  was  my  general  view  of  the  matter.  Of  par- 
ticular places,  I  recollected  that  Garval  Hill  was  a  famous  piece 
of  rough  upland  pasture,  for  rearing  young  colts,  and  teaching 
them  to  throw  their  feet — that  Minion  Burn  had  the  finest  yellow 
trout  in  the  country, — that  Seggycleugh  was  unequaled  for 
woodcocks — that  Bengibbert  Moors  afforded  excellent  moorfowl- 
shooting,  and  that  the  clear  bubbling  fountain  called  the  Harper's 
Well  was  the  best  recipe  in  the  world  on  a  morning  after  a 
Hard-go  with  my  neighbor  fox-hunters.  Still  these  ideas  re- 
called, by  degrees,  pictures,  of  which  I  had  since  learned  to  appre- 
ciate the  merit — scenes  of  silent  loneliness,  where  extensive 
moors,  undulating  into  wild  hills,  were  only  disturbed  by  the 
whistle  of  the  plover,  or  the  crow  of  the  heath-cock  ;  wild  ravines 
creeping  up  into  mountains,  filled  with  natural  wood,  and 
^vhich,  when  traced  downward  along  the  path  formed  by 
shepherds  and  nutters,  were  found  gradually  to  enlarge  and 
deepen,  as  each  formed  a  channel  to  its  own  brook,  sometimes 
bordered  by  steep  banks  of  earth,  often  with  the  more  romantic 
boundary  of  naked  rocks  or  cliffs,  crested  with  oak,  mountain- 
ash,  and  hazel, — all  gratifying  the  eye  the  more  that  the  scenery 
was,  from  the  bare  nature  of  the  country  around,  totally 
unexpected, 

I  had  recollections,  too,  of  fair  and  fertile  holms,  or  level 
plains,  extending  between  the  wooded  banks  and  the  bold 
stream  of  the  Clyde,  which,  colored  like  pure  amber,  or  rather 
having  the  hue  of  the  pebbles  called  Cairngorm,  rushes  over 
sheets  of  rock  and  beds  of  gravel,  inspiring  a  species  of  awe 
from  the  few  and  faithless  fords  which  it  presents,  and  the 
frequency  of  fatal  accidents,  now  diminished  by  the  number  of 
bridges.  These  alluvial  holms  were  frequently  bordered  by  triple 
and  quadruple  rows  of  large  trees,  which  gracefully  marked 
their  boundary,  and  dipped  their  long  arms  into  the  foaming 
stream  of  the  river.  Other  places  I  remembered,  which  had 
been  described  by  the  old  huntsman  as  the  lodge  of  tremendous 
wild-cats,  or  the  spot  where  tradition  stated  the  mighty  stag  to 
have  been  brought  to  bay,  or  where  heroes,  whose  might  was 
now  as  much  forgotten,  were  said  to  have  been  slain  by  surprise. 
or  in  battle. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these  finished  landscapes 
became  visible  before  the  eyes  of  my  imagination,  as  the  scenery 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  C AMONG  ATE. 


17 


of  the  stage  is  disclosed  by  the  rising  of  the  curtain.  I  have  said, 
that  I  had  looked  upon  the  country  around  me,  during  the  hurried 
and  dissipated  period  of  my  life,  with  the  eyes  indeed  of  my 
body,  but  without  those  of  my  understanding.  It  was  piece 
by  piece,  as  a  child  picks  out  its  lesson,  that  I  began  to  recol- 
lect the  beauties  of  nature  which  had  once  surrounded  me  in 
the  home  of  my  forefathers.  A  natural  taste  for  them  must 
have  lurked  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  which  awakened  when 
I  was  in  foreign  countries,  and  becoming  by  degrees  a  favorite 
passion,  gradually  turned  its  eyes  inward,  and  ransacked  the 
neglected  stores  which  my  memory  had  involuntarily  recorded, 
and  when  excited,  exerted  herself  to  collect  and  to  complete. 

I  began  now  to  regret  more  bitterly  than  ever  the  having 
fooled  away  my  family  property,  the  care  and  improvement  of 
which,  I  saw,  might  have  afforded  an  agreeable  employment 
for  my  leisure,  which  only  went  to  brood  on  past  misfortunes, 
and  increase  useless  repining.  "  Had  but  a  single  farm  been 
reserved,  however  small,"  said  I,  one  day  to  Mr.  Fairscribe,  "  I 
should  have  had  a  place  I  could  call  my  home,  and  something 
that  I  could  call  business." 

"It  might  have  been  managed,"  answered  Fairscribe  ;  "  and 
for  my  part  I  inclined  to  keep  the  mansion-house,  mains,  and 

some  of  the  old  family  acres  together  ;  but  both  Mr. and 

you  were  of  opinion  that  the  money  would  be  more  useful." 

"  True,  true,  my  good  friend,"  said  I,  "  I  was  a  fool  then, 
and  did  not  think  I  could  incline  to  be  Glentanner  with  ^200 
OJ*  ;^3oo  a-year,  instead  of  Glentanner  with  as  many  thousands. 
I  was  then  a  haughty,  pettish,  ignorant,  dissipated,  broken-down 
Scottish  laird  ;  and  thinking  my  imaginary  consequence  alto- 
gether ruined,  I  cared  not  how  soon,  or  how  absolutely,  I  was 
rid  of  everything  that  recalled  it  to  my  own  memory,  or  that  of 
others." 

And  now  it  is  like  you  have  changed  your  mind  1  "  said 
Fairscribe.  "  Well,  fortune  is  apt  to  circumduce  the  term 
upon  us ;  but  I  think  she  may  allow  you  to  revise  your  conde- 
scendence." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  good  friend  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Fairscribe,  "  there  is  ill  luck  in  averring  till 
one  is  sure  of  his  facts.  I  will  look  back  on  a  file  of  news- 
papers, and  to-morrow  you  shall  hear  from  me  ;  come,  help  your- 
self— I  have  seen  you  fill  your  glass  higher." 

"And  shall  see  it  again,"  said  I,  pouring  out  what  remained 
of  our  bottle  of  claret ;  "  the  wine  is  capital,  and  so  shall  our 
toast  be — To  your  fireside,  my  good  friend.     And  now  we  shall 


1 8  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANO.XGATE, 

go  beg  a  Scots  song,  without  foreign  graces,  from  my  little  siren 
Miss  Katie." 

The  next  day  accordingly  I  received  a  parcel  from  Mr. 
Fairscribe  with  a  newspaper  enclosed,  among  the  advertise- 
ments of  which,  one  was  marked  with  a  cross  as  requiring  my 
attention.     I  read  to  my  surprise — 

"  DESIRABLE    ESTATE    FOR    SALE. 

"  By  order  of  the  Lords  of  Council  and  Session,  will  be 
exposed  to  sale  in  the  New  Sessions  House  of  Edinburgh,  on 
Wednesday,  the  25th  November  18 — ,  all  and  whole  the  lands 
and  barony  of  Glentanner,  now  called  Castle  Treddles,  lying  in 
the  Middle  Ward  of  Clydesdale,  and  shire  of  Lanark,  with  the 
teinds,  parsonage  and  vicarage,  fishings  in  the  Clyde,  woods, 
mosses,  moors,  and  pasturages,"  etc.  etc. 

The  advertisement  went  on  to  set  forth  the  advantages  of 
the  soil,  situation,  natural  beauties,  and  capabilities  of  improve- 
ment, not  forgetting  its  being  a  freehold  estate,  with  the  par- 
ticular polypus  capacity  of  being  sliced  up  into  two,  three,  or, 
with  a  little  assistance,  four  freehold  qualifications,  and  a  hint 
that  the  county  was  likely  to  be  eagerly  contested  between  two 
great  families.  The  upset  price  at  which  "  the  said  lands  and 
barony  and  others  "  were  to  be  exposed  was  thirty  years'  pur- 
chase of  the  proven  rental,  which  was  about  a  fourth  more  than 
the  property  had  fetched  at  the  last  sale.  This,  which  was 
mentioned,  I  suppose,  to  show  the  improvable  character  of  the 
land,  would  have  given  another  some  pain  ;  but  let  me  speak 
truth  of  myself  in  good  as  in  evil — it  pained  not  me.  I  was 
only  angry  that  Fairscribe,  who  knew  something  generally  of 
the  extent  of  my  funds,  should  have  tantalized  me  by  sending 
me  information  that  my  family  property  was  in  the  market, 
since  he  must  have  known  that  the  price  was  far  out  of  my 
reach. 

But  a  letter  dropped  from  the  parcel  on  the  floor,  which 
attracted  my  eye,  and  explained  the  riddle.  A  client  of  Mr. 
Fairscribe's,  a  moneyed  man,  thought  of  buying  Glentanner, 
merely  as  an  investment  of  money — it  was  even  unlikely  he 
would  ever  see  it;  and  so,  the  price  of  the  whole  being  some 
thousand  pounds  beyond  what  cash  he  had  on  hand,  this 
accommodating  Dives  would  gladly  take  a  partner  in  the  sale 
for  any  detached  farm,  and  would  make  no  objection  to  its  in- 
cluding the  most  desirable  part  of  the  estate  in  point  of  beauty, 
nrovided  the  price  was  made  adequate.  Mr.  Fairscribe  would 
take  care  I  was  not  imposed  on  in  the  matter,  and  said  in  his 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  ig 

card,  he  believed,  if  I  really  wished  to  make  such  a  purchase,  I 
had  better  go  out  and  look  at  the  premises,  advising  me,  at  the 
same  time,  to  keep  a  strict  incognito;  an  advice  somewhat 
superfluous,  since  I  am  naturally  of  a  reserved  disposition. 


CHAPTER  THIRD. 

MR.    CROFTANGRY,    INTER   ALIA,    REVISITS    GLENTANNER. 

Then  sing  of  stage-coaches, 
And  fear  no  reproaches 

For  riding  in  one; 
But  daily  be  jogging. 
Whilst,  whistling  and  flogging, 
Whilst,  whistling  and  flogging, 

The  coachman  drives  on, 

Farquhar. 

Disguised  in  a  gray  surtout  which  had  seen  service,  a  white 
castor  on  my  head,  aud  a  stout  Indian  cane  in  my  hand,  the 
next  week  saw  me  on  the  top  of  a  mail-coach  driving  to  the 
westward, 

I  like  mail-coaches,  and  I  hate  them,  I  like  them  for  my 
convenience,  but  I  detest  them  for  setting  the  whole  world 
a-gadding  instead  of  sitting  quietly  still  minding  their  own  busi- 
ness, and  preserving  the  stamp  of  originality  of  character  which 
nature  or  education  may  have  impressed  on  them.  Off  they  go, 
jingling  against  each  other  in  the  rattling  vehicle  till  they  have 
no  more  variety  of  stamp  in  them  than  so  many  smooth  shillings 
— the  save  even  in  their  Welsh  wigs  and  great-coats,  each  with- 
out more  individuality  than  belongs  to  a  partner  of  the  company, 
as  the  waiter  calls  them,  of  the  North  coach. 

Worthy  Mr.  Piper,  best  of  contractors  who  ever  furnished 
four  frampal  jades  for  public  use,  I  bless  you  when  I  set  out  on 
a  journey  myself ;  the  neat  coaches  under  your  contract  render 
the  intercourse,  from  Johnnie  Groat's  House  to  Ladykirk  and 
Cornhill  Bridge,  safe,  pleasant,  and  cheap.  But,  Mr.  Piper, 
you  who  are  a  shrewd  ariilimetician,  did  it  never  occur  to  you 
to  calculate  how  many  fools'  heads,  which  might  have  produced 
an  idea  or  two  in  the  year,  if  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet,  get 
effectually  addled  by  jolting  to  and  fro  in  these  flying  chariots  of 
yours  ;  how  many  decent  countrymen  become  conceited  bump- 
kins after  a  cattle-show  dinner  in  the  capital,  which  they  could 


20  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  C AMONG  ATE. 

not  have  attended  save  for  your  means ;  how  many  decent 
country  parsons  return  critics  and  spouters  by  way  of  import- 
ing the  newest  taste  from  Edinburgh  ?  And  how  will  your  con- 
science answer  one  day  for  carrying  so  many  bonny  lasses  to 
barter  modesty  for  conceit  and  levity  at  the  Metropolitan  Vanity 
Fair  ? 

Consider,  too,  the  low  rate  to  which  you  reduce  human  intel- 
lect. I  do  not  believe  your  habitual  customers  have  their  ideas 
more  enlarged  than  one  of  your  coach-horses.  They  kfiows  the 
road,  like  the  English  postilion,  and  they  know  nothing  beside. 
They  date,  like  the  carriers  at  Gadshill,  from  the  death  of  John 
Ostler ;  *  the  succession  of  guards  forms  a  dynasty  in  their  eyes ; 
coachmen  are  their  ministers  of  state,  and  an  upset  is  to  them 
a  greater  incident  than  a  change  of  administration.  Their  only 
point  of  interest  on  the  road  is  to  save  the  time,  and  see  whether 
the  coach  keeps  the  hour.  This  is  surely  a  miserable  degrada- 
tion of  human  intellect.  Take  my  advice,  my  good  sir,  and  disin- 
terestedly contrive  that  once  or  twice  a-quarter  your  most  dex- 
terous whip  shall  overturn  a  coachful  of  the  superfluous  travel- 
ers, in  terror  em  to  those  who,  as  Horace  says,  "  delight  in  the 
dust  raised  by  your  chariots." 

Your  current  and  customary  mail-coach  passenger,  too,  gets 
abominably  selfish,  schemes  successfully  for  the  best  seat,  the 
freshest  egg,  the  right  cut  of  the  sirloin.  The  mode  of  travel- 
ing is  death  to  all  the  courtesies  and  kindnesses  of  life,  and 
goes  a  great  way  to  demoralize  the  character,  and  cause  it  to 
retrograde  to  barbarism.  You  allow  us  excellent  dinners,  but 
only  twenty  minutes  to  eat  them  ;  and  what  is  the  consequence  ? 
Bashful  beauty  sits  on  the  one  side  of  us,  timid  childhood  on 
the  other ;  respectable,  yet  somewhat  feeble  old  age  is  placed 
on  our  front ;  and  all  require  those  acts  of  politeness  which 
ought  to  put  every  degree  upon  a  level  at  the  convivial  board. 
But  have  we  time — we  the  strong  and  active  of  the  party — to 
perform  the  duties  of  the  table  to  the  more  retired  and  bashful, 
to  whom  these  little  attentions  are  due  ?  The  lady  should  be 
pressed  to  her  chicken — the  old  man  helped  to  his  favorite 
and  tender  slice — the  child  to  his  tart.  But  not  a  fraction  of  a 
minute  have  we  to  bestow  on  any  other  person  than  ourselves ; 
and  t\iQ  prut-prut — tut-tut  of  the  guard's  discordant  note,  sum- 
mons us  to  the  coach,  the  weaker  party  having  gone  without 
their  dinner,  and  the  able-bodied  and  active  threatened  with 
indigestion,  from  having  swallowed  victuals  like  a  Lei'stershire 
clown  bolting  bacon. 

*  See  the  opening  scene  of  the  first  part  of  Shakspeare's  Henry  JV. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  n 

On  the  memorable  occasion  I  am  speaking  of  I  lost  my 
breaclfast,  sheerly  from  obeying  the  commands  of  a  respectable- 
looking  old  lady,  who  once  required  me  to  ring  the  bell,  and 
another  time  to  help  the  tea-kettle.  I  have  some  reason  to 
think  she  was  literally  an  oM  Slai^er,  who  laughed  in  her  sleeve 
at  my  complaisance  ;  so  that  I  have  sworn  in  my  secret  soul  re- 
venge upon  her  sex,  and  all  such  errant  damsels  of  whatever  age 
and  degree,  whom  I  may  encounter  in  my  travels.  I  mean  aJl 
this  without  the  least  ill-will  to  my  friend  the  contractor,  who, 
1  think,  has  approached  as  near  as  any  one  is  like  to  do  toward 
accomplishing  the  modest  wish  of  the  Amatus  and  Amataof  the 
Peri  Bathous, 

Ye  gods, annihilate  but  time  and  space, 
And  make  two  lovers  happy 

I  intend  to  give  Mr.  P.  his  full  revenge  when  I  come  to  dis- 
cuss the  more  recent  enormity  of  steamboats  ,  meanwhile  I  shall 
only  say  of  both  these  modes  of  conveyance,  that 

There  is  no  living  with  them  or  without  them. 

I  am  perhaps  more  critical  on  the mail-coach  on  this 

particular  occasion,  that  I  did  not  meet  all  the  respect  from  the 
worshipful  company  in  his  Majesty's  carriage  that  1  think  1  was 
entitled  to.  I  must  say  it  for  myself,  that  I  bear,  in  my  own 
opinion  at  least,  not  a  vulgar  point  about  me.  My  face  has 
seen  service,  but  there  is  still  a  good  set  of  teeth,  an  aquiline 
nose,  and  a  quick  gray  eye,  set  a  little  too  deep  under  the  eye- 
brow ;  and  a  cue  of  the  kind  once  called  military,  may  serve  to 
show  that  my  civil  occupations  have  been  sometimes  mixed  with 
those  of  war.  Nevertheless,  two  idle  young  fellows  in  the 
vehicle,  or  rather  on  the  top  of  it,  were  so  much  amused  with 
the  deliberation  which  I  used  in  ascending  to  the  same  place 
of  eminence,  that  I  thought  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  pull 
them  up  a  little.  And  I  was  in  no  good  humor,  at  an  unsup- 
pressed  laugh  following  my  descent,  when  set  down  at  the  angle^ 
where  a  cross  road,  striking  off  from  the  main  one,  led.  me 
toward  Glentanner,  from  which  I  was  still  nearly  five  miles 
distant. 

It  was  old-fashioned  road,  which,  preferring  ascents  to 
sloughs,  was  led  in  a  straight  line  over  height  and  hollow, 
through  moor  and  dale.  Every  object  around  me,  as  I  passed 
them  in  succession,  reminded  me  of  old  days,  and  at  the  same 
time  formed  the  strongest  contrast  with  them  possible.  Unat- 
tended, on  foot,  with  a  small  bundle  in  my  hand,  deemed  scarce 


22  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGA  TE. 

sufficient  good  company  for  the  two  shabby  genteels  with  whom 
I  had  been  lately  perched  on  the  top  of  a  mail-coach,  I  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  same  person  with  the  young  prodigal  who  lived 
with  the  noblest  and  gayest  in  the  land,  and  who,  thirty  years 
before,  would,  in  the  same  country,  have  been  on  the  back  of  a 
horse  that  had  been  victor  for  a  plate,  or  smoking  along  in  his 
traveling  chaise-and-four.  My  sentiments  were  not  less  changed 
than  my  condition.  I  could  quite  well  remember,  that  my  rul- 
ing sensation  in  the  days  of  heady  youth,  was  a  mere  school- 
boy's eagerness  to  get  furthest  forward  in  the  race  in  which  I  had 

engaged  ;  to  drink  as  many  bottles  as ;  to  be  thought  as 

good  a  judge  of  a  horse  as ;  to  have  the  knowing  cut  of 

's  jacket.     These  were  thy  gods,  O  Israel ! 

Now  I  was  a  mere  looker-on  ;  seldom  an  unmoved,  and 
sometimes  an  angry  spectator,  but  still  a  spectator  only,  of  the 
pursuits  of  mankind.  I  felt  how  little  my  opinion  was  valued 
by  those  engaged  in  the  busy  turmoil,  yet  I  exercised  it  with 
the  profusion  of  an  old  lawyer  retired  from  his  profession,  who 
thrusts  himself  into  his  neighbor's  affairs,  and  gives  advice 
where  it  is  not  wanted,  merely  under  pretence  of  loving  the 
crack  of  the  whip. 

I  came  amid  these  reflections  to  the  brow  of  a  hill,  from 
which  I  expected  to  see  Glentanner ;  a  modest-looking  yet 
comfortable  house,  its  walls  covered  with  the  most  productive 
fruit-trees  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  screened  from  the 
most  stormy  quarters  of  the  horizon  by  a  deep  and  ancient 
wood  which  overhung  the  neighboring  hill.  The  house  was 
gone ;  a  great  part  of  the  wood  was  felled  ;  and  instead  of  the 
gentleman-like  mansion,  shrouded  and  embosomed  among  its 
old  hereditary  trees,  stood  Castle  Treddles,  a  huge  lumping 
four-square  pile  of  freestone,  as  bare  as  my  nail,  except  for  a 
paltry  edging  of  decayed  and  lingering  exotic-s,  with  an  im- 
poverished lawn  stretched  before  it,  which,  instead  of  boasting 
deep  green  tapestry,  enameled  with  daisies,  and  with  crow's- 
foot  and  cowslips,  showed  an  extent  of  nakedness,  riked  in- 
deed, and  leveled,  but  where  the  sown  grasses  had  failed  with 
drought,  and  the  earth,  retaining  its  natural  coniplexion, 
seemed  nearly  as  brown  and  bare  as  when  it  was   newly  dug 

The  house  was  a  large  fabric,  which  pretended  to  its  name 
of  Castle  only  from  the  front  windows  being  finished  in  acute 
Gothic  arches  (  being  by  the  way,  the  v&xy  reverse  of  the  cas- 
telated  style),  and  each  angle  graced  with  a  turret  about  the 
size  of  a  pepper-box.  In  every  other  respect  it  resembled  a 
large  town-house,  which,  like  a  fat  burgess,  had  taken  a  walk 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


23 


to  the  country  on  a  holiday,  and  climbed  to  the  top  of  an  emi- 
nence to  look  around  it.  The  bright  red  color  of  the  freestone, 
the  size  of  the  building,  the  formality  of  its  shape,  and  awk- 
wardness of  its  position,  harmonized  as  ill  with  the  sweeping 
Clyde  in  front,  and  a  bubbling  brook  which  danced  down  on 
the  right,  as  the  fat  civic  form,  with  bushy  wig,  gold-headed 
cane,  maroon-colored  coat,  and  mottled  silk  stockings,  would 
have  accorded  with  the  wild  and  magnificent  scenery  of  Core- 
house  Linn. 

I  went  up  to  the  house.  It  was  in  that  state  of  desertion 
which  is  perhaps  the  most  unpleasant  to  look  on,  for  the  place 
was  going  to  decay,  without  having  been  inhabited.  There 
were  about  the  mansion,  though  deserted,  none  of  the  slow 
mouldering  touches  of  time,  which  communicate  to  buildings, 
as  to  the  human  frame,  a  sort  of  reverence,  while  depriving 
them  of  beauty  and  of  strength.  The  disconcerted  schemes  of  the 
Laird  of  Castle  Treddles  had  resembled  fruit  that  becomes  de- 
cayed without  ever  having  ripened.  Some  windows  broken, 
others  patched,  others  blocked  up  with  deals,  gave  a  discon- 
solate air  to  all  around,  and  seemed  to  say,  "  There  Vanity  had 
purposed  to  fix  her  seat,  but  was  anticipated  by  Poverty." 

To  the  inside,  after  many  a  vain  summons,  I  was  at  length 
admitted  by  an  old  laborer.  The  house  contained  every  con- 
trivance for  luxury  and  accommodation; — the  kitchens  were  a 
model,  and  there  were  hot  closets  on  the  office  staircase,  that 
the  dishes  might  not  cool,  as  our  Scottish  phrase  goes,  between 
the  kitchen  and  the  hall.  But  instead  of  the  genial  smell  of 
good  cheer,  these  temples  of  Comus  emitted  the  damp  odor  of 
sepulchral  vaults,  and  the  large  cabinets  of  cast-iron  looked  like 
the  cages  of  some  feudal  Bastile.  The  eating-room  and  draw- 
ing-room, with  an  interior  boudoir,  were  magnificent  apartments, 
the  ceilings  fretted  and  adorned  with  stucco-work,  which  already 
was  broken  in  many  places,  and  looked  in  others  damp  and 
mouldering  ;  the  wood  paneling  was  shrunk  and  warped,  and 
cracked  ;  the  doors,  which  had  not  been  hung  for  more  than 
two  years,  were,  nevertheless,  already  swinging  loose  from  their 
hinges.  Desolation,  in  short,  was  where  enjoyment  had  never 
been;  and  the  want  of  all  the  usual  means  to  preserve  was  fast 
performing  the  work  of  decay. 

The  story  was  a  common  one,  and  told  in  a  few  words.  Mr. 
Treddles  senior,  who  bought  the  estate,  was  a  cautious  money 
making  person  ;  his  son,  still  embarked  in  commercial  specula- 
tions, desired  at  the  same  time  to  enjoy  his  opulence  and  to  in- 
crease it.  He  n)curred  great  expenses,  amongst  which  this 
idifice  was  to  be  numbered.     To  support  this  he  speculated 


24  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

boldly,  and  unfortunately  ;  and  thus  the  whole  history  is  told, 
which  may  serve  for  more  places  than  Glentanner. 

Strange  and  various  feelings  ran  through  my  bosom,  as  I 
loitered  in  these  deserted  apartments,  scarce  hearing  what  my 
guide  said  to  me  about  the  size  and  destination  of  each  room. 
The  first  sentiment,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  was  one  of  gratified 
spite.  My  patrician  pride  was  pleased,  that  the  mechanic,  who 
had  not  thought  the  house  of  the  Croftangrys  sufficiently  good 
for  him,  had  now  experienced  a  fall  in  his  turn.  My  next 
thought  was  as  mean,  though  not  so  malicious.  "  I  have  had 
the  better  of  this  fellow,"  thought  I  ;  "  if  I  lost  the  estate,  I  at 
least  spent  the  price  ;  and  Mr.  Treddles  has  lost  his  among 
paltry  commercial  engagements." 

"  Wretch  !  "  said  the  secret  voice  within,  "  darest  thou  exult 
in  thy  shame  .-'  Recollect  how  thy  youth  and  fortune  were 
wasted  in  those  years,  and  triumph  not  in  the  enjoyment  of  an 
existence  which  leveled  thee  with  the  beasts  that  perish.  Be- 
think thee  how  this  poor  man's  vanity  gave  at  least  bread  to  the 
laborer,  peasant,  and  citizen  ;  and  his  profuse  expenditure,  like 
water  spilt  on  the  ground,  refreshed  the  lovely  herbs  and  plants 
where  it  fell.  But  thou  !  whom  hast  thou  enriched,  during  thy 
career  of  extravagance,  save  those  brokers  of  the  devil,  vintners, 
panders,  gamblers,  and  horse-jockeys  ?  "  The  anguish  produced 
by  this  self-reproof  was  so  strong,  that  I  put  my  hand  suddenly 
to  my  forehead,  and  was  obliged  to  allege  a  sudden  megrim  to 
my  attendant,  in  apology  for  the  action,  and  a  slight  groan  with 
which  it  w'as  accompanied. 

I  then  made  an  effort  to  turn  my  thoughts  into  a  more 
philosophical  current,  and  muttered  half  aloud,  as  a  charm  to 
lull  any  more  painful  thoughts  to  rest — 

Nunc  ager  Umbreni  sub  nomine,  nuper  Ofelli 
Dktus,  erit  nulli proprius  ;  sed  cedit  in  usum 
Nunc  mihi,   nunc  alii.     Quocirca  vivite  fortes, 
Fortiaque  adversis  opponite pectora  rebus.* 

*  Horace,  Sat.  II.  Lib.  2.  The  meaning  will  be  best  conveyed  to  the 
English  reader  in  Pope's  imitation  : — 

What's  property,  dear  Swift  ?  you  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter  ; 
Or  in  a  mortgage  prove  a  lawyer's  share 

Or  in  a  jointure  vanish  from  the  heir. 

•  •  «  • 

Shades,  that  to  Bacon  could  retreat  afford, 

Become  the  portion  of  a  booby  lord; 

And  Helmsley,  once  proud  Buckingham's  delight, 

Slides  to  a  scrivener  and  city  knight. 

Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  loids  they  will, 

I.^t  US  be  fix'd,  and  our  own  pasters  still. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE, 


n 


In  my  anxiety  to  fix  the  philosophical  precept  in  my  mind,  I 
recited  the  last  line  aloud,  which,  joined  to  my  previous  agita- 
tion, I  afterward  found  became  the  cause  of  a  report,  that  a 
mad  schoolmaster  had  come  from  Edinburgh,  with  the  idea  in 
his  head  of  buying  Castle  Treddles. 

As  I  saw  my  companion  was  desirous  of  getting  rid  of  me, 
I  asked  where  I  was  to  find  the  person  in  whose  hands  were 
left  the  map  of  the  estate  and  other  particulars  connected  with 
the  sale.     The  agent  who  had  this  in  possession,  I  was  told, 

lived  at  the  town  of ;  which  I  was  informed,  and  indeed 

knew  well,  was  distant  five  miles  and  a  bittock,  which  may  pass 
in  a  country  where  they  are  less  lavish  of  their  land,  for  two  or 
three  more.  Being  somewhat  afraid  of  the  fatigue  of  walking 
so  far,  I  inquired  if  a  horse,  or  any  sort  of  a  carriage  was  to  be 
had,  and  was  answered  in  the  negative. 

"But,"  said  my  cicerone,  "you  may  halt  a  blink  till  next 
morning  at  the  Treddles  Arms,  a  very  decent  house,  scarce  a 
mile  of¥. 

"  A  new  house,  I  suppose  ?  "  replied  I. 

"  Na,  it's  a  new  public,  but  it's  an  auld  house  ;  it  was  aye 
the  Leddy's  jointure-house  in  the  Croftangry-folk's  time  ;  but 
Mr.  Treddles  has  fitted  it  up  for  the  convenience  of  the  coun- 
try. Poor  man,  he  was  a  public-spirited  man  when  he  had  the 
means." 

"  Duntarkin  a  public  house  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  fellow,  surprised  at  my  naming  the  place  by 
its  former  title;  "ye'll  hae  been  in  this  coiintry  before,  I'm 
thinking.?" 

"  Long  since,"  I  replied — "  and  there  is  good  accommoda- 
tion at  the  what-d'ye-call-'em  arms,  and  a  civil  landlord }  " 
This  I  said  by  way  of  saying  something,  for  the  man  stared 
very  hard  at  me. 

"Very  decent  accommodation.  Ye'll  no  be  for  fashing  wi' 
wine,  I'm  thinking,  and  there's  walth  o'  porter,  ale,  and  a  drap 
gude  whisky" — (in  an  undertone)  —  "  Fairntosh,  if  you  can 
get  on  the  lee-side  of  the  gudewife — for  there  is  nae  gudeman 
— They  ca'  her  Christie  Steele." 

I  almost  started  at  the  sound.  Christie  Steele  !  Christie 
Steele  was  my  mother's  body  servant,  her  very  right  hand,  and, 
between  ourselves,  something  like  a  viceroy  over  her.  I  rec- 
ollected her  perfectly  ;  and  though  she  had  in  former  times 
been  no  favorite  of  mine,  her  name  now  sounded  in  my  ear  like 
that  of  a  friend,  and  was  the  first  word  I  had  heard  somewhat 
in  unison  with  the  associations  around  me.  I  sallied  from 
Castle  Treddles,  determined  to  make  the  best  of  my  way  to 


26  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATR. 

Duntarkin,  and  my  cicerone  hung  by  me  for  a  little  way,  giving 
loose  to  his  love  of  talking;  an  opportunity  which,  situated  as 
he  was,  the  seneschal  of  a  deserted  castle,  was  not  likely  lo 
occur  frequently, 

"  Some  folk  think,"  said  my  companion,  "  that  Mr.  Treddles 
might  as  weel  have  put  my  wife  as  Christie  Steele  into  the 
Treddles  Arms,  for  Christie  had  been  aye  in  service,  and  never 
in  the  public  line,  and  so  it's  like  she  is  ganging  back  in  the 
world,  as  I  hear — now,  my  wife  had  keepit  a  victualing  office." 

"That  would  have  been  an  advantage  certainly,"  I  replied. 

"  But  I  am  no  sure  that  I  wad  ha'  looten  Eppie  take  it,  if 
they  had  put  it  in  her  offer." 

"  That's  a  different  consideration." 

"  Ony  way,  I  wadna  ha'  liked  to  have  offended  Mr.  Tred- 
dles ;  he  was  a  wee  toustie  when  you  rubbed  him  again  the  hair 
— but  a  kind,  weel-meaning  man." 

I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  this  species  of  chat,  and  finding  my- 
self near  the  entrance  of  a  footpath  which  made  a  short  cut  to 
Duntarkin,  I  put  half-a-crown  into  my  guide's  hand,  bade  him 
good-evening,  and  plunged  into  the  woods. 

"  Hout,  sir — fie,  sir — no  from  the  like  of  you — stay,  sir,  ye 
wunna  find  the  way  that  gate — Odd's  mercy,  he  maun  ken  the 
gate  as  weel  as  I  do  myself — weel,  I  wad  like  to  ken  wha  the 
chield  is." 

Such  were  the  last  words  of  my  guide's  drowsy,  uninterest- 
ing tone  of  voice  ;  and,  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  I  strode  out 
stoutly,  in  despite  of  large  stones,  briers,  and  bad  steps,  which 
abounded  in  the  road  I  had  chosen.  In  the  interim,  I  tried  as 
much  as  I  could,  with  verses  from  Horace  and  Prior,  and  all 
who  have  lauded  the  mixture  of  literary  with  rural  life,  to  call 
back  the  visions  of  last  night  and  this  morning,  imagining  my- 
self settled  in  some  detached  farm  of  the  estate  of  Glentanner, 

Which  sloping  hills  around  enclose — 
Where  many  a  birch  and  brown  oak  grows; 

when  I  should  have  a  cottage  with  a  small  library,  a  small  cel- 
lar, a  spare  bed  for  a  friend,  and  live  more  happy  and  more 
honored  than  when  I  had  the  whole  barony.  But  the  sight  of 
Castle  Treddles  had  disturbed  all  my  own  castles  in  the  air. 
The  realities  of  the  matter,  like  a  stone  plashed  into  a  limpid 
fountain,  had  destroved  the  reflection  of  the  objects  around, 
which,  till  this  act  of  violence,  lay  slumbering  on  the  crystal 
surface,  and  I  tried  in  vain  to  re-establish  the  picture  which 
had  been  so  rudely  broken.  Well,  then,  I  would  try  it  another 
way ;  I   would  tr)'  to  get  Christie  Steele  out  of  her  public^  sioce 


CHROXICLES  OF  THE  CAA^OXGATE.  27 

she  was  not  thriving  in  it,  and  she  who  had  been  my  mother's 
governante  should  be  mine.  I  knew  all  her  faults,  and  I  told 
her  history  over  to  myself. 

She  was  a  grand-daughter,  I  believe,  at  least  some  relative, 
of  the  famous  Covenanter  of  the  name,  whom  Dean  Swift's 
friend  Captain  Creichton,  shot  on  his  own  staircase  in  the 
times  of  the  persecutions,*  and  had  perhaps  derived  from  her 
native  stock  much  both  of  its  good  and  evil  properties.  No 
one  could  say  of  her  that  she  was  the  life  and  spirit  of  the 
family,  though,  in  my  mother's  time,  she  directed  all  family 
affairs ;  her  look  was  austere  and  gloomy  and  when  she  was 
not  displeased  with  you,  you  could  only  find  it  out  by  her 
silence.  If  there  was  cause  for  complaint,  real  or  imagi- 
nar}',  Christie  was  loud  enough.  She  loved  my  mother  with 
the  devoted  attachment  of  a  younger  sister,  but  she  was  as 
jealous  of  her  favor  to  any  one  else  as  if  she  had  been  the 
aged  husband  of  a  coquetish  wife,  and  as  severe  in  her  repre- 
hensions as  an  abbess  over  her  nuns.  The  command  which  she 
exercised  over  her,  was  that,  I  fear,  of  a  strong  and  determined 
over  a  feeble  and  more  nervous  disposition  ;  and  though  it  was 
used  with  rigor,  yet,  to  the  best  of  Christie  Steele's  belief,  she 
was  urging  her  mistress  to  her  test  and  most  becoming  course, 
and  would  have  died  rather  than  have  recommended  any  other. 
The  attachment  of  this  woman  was  limited  to  the  family  of 
Croftangr)',  for  she  had  few  relations  ;  and  a  dissolute  cousin, 
whom  late  in  life  she  had  taken  as  a  husband,  had  long  left  her 
a  widow. 

To  me  she  had  ever  a  strong  dislike.  Even  from  my  early 
childhood  she  was  jealous,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  of  my 
interest  in  my  mother's  affections ;  she  saw  my  foibles  and 
vices  with  abhorrence,  and  without  a  grain  of  allowance  ;  nor 
did  she  pardon  the  weakness  of  maternal  affection,  even  when, 
by  the  death  of  two  brothers,  I  came  to  be  the  only  child  of  a 
widowed  parent.  At  the  time  my  disorderly  conduct  induced  my 
mother  to  leave  Glentanner,  and  retreat  to  her  jointure-house, 
I  always  blamed  Christie  Steele  for  having  influenced  her 
resentment,  and  prevented  her  from  listening  to  my  vows  of 
amendment,  which  at  times  were  real  and  serious,  and  might, 
perhaps,  have  accelerated  that  change  of  disposition  which  has 
since,  I  trust,  taken  place.  But  Christie  regarded  me  as  alto- 
gether a  doomed  and  predestinated  child  of  perdition,  who  was 
sure  to  hold  on  my  course,  and  drag  downward  whosoever 
might  attempt  to  afford  me  support. 

*  Note  B.    Steele,  the  Covenanter. 


28  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

Still,  though  I  knew  such  had  been  Christie's  prejudices 
against  me  in  other  days,  yet  I  thought  enough  of  time  had 
since  passed  away  to  destroy  all  of  them.  I  knew  that  when, 
through  the  disorder  of  my  affairs,  my  mother  underwent  some 
temporary  inconvenience  about  money  matters,  Christie,  as  a 
thing  of  course,  stood  in  the  gap,  and  having  sold  a  small 
inheritance,  which  had  descended  to  her,  brought  the  purchase- 
money  to  her  mistress,  with  a  sense  of  devotion  as  deep  as  that 
which  inspired  the  Christians  of  the  first  age,  when  they  sold 
all  they  had,  and  followed  the  apostle  of  the  church.  I  there- 
fore thought  that  we  might,  in  old  Scottish  phrase,  "  let 
byganes  be  byganes,"  and  begin  upon  a  new  account.  Yet  I 
resolved,  like  a  skilful  general,  to  reconnoitre  a  little  before 
laying  down  any  precise  scheme  of  proceeding,  and  in  the 
interim  I  determined  to  preserve  my  incognito. 


CHAPTER  FOURTH. 

MR.  CROFTANGRY  BIDS   ADIEU  TO   CLYDESDALE. 

Alas,  how  changed  from  what  it  had  once  been  I 
'  Twas  now  degraded  to  a  common  inn. 

Gay. 

An  hour's  brisk  walking,  or  thereabouts,  placed  me  in  front 
of  Duntarkin,  which  had  also,  I  found,  undergone  considerable 
alterations,  though  it  had  not  been  altogether  demolished  like 
the  principal  mansion.  An  inn-yard  extended  before  the  door 
of  the  decent  little  jointure-house,  even  amidst  the  remnants  of 
the  holly  hedges  which  had  screened  the  lady's  garden.  Then 
a  broad,  raw-looking,  new-made  road  intruded  itself  up  the 
little  glen,  instead  of  the  old  horseway,  so  seldom  used  that  it 
was  almost  entirely  covered  with  grass.  It  is  a  great  enormity 
of  which  gentlemen  trustees  on  the  highway  are  sometimes 
guilty,  in  adopting  the  breadth  necessary  for  an  avenue  to  the 
metropolis,  where  all  that  is  required  is  an  access  to  some 
sequestered  and  unpopulous  district.  I  do  not  say  anything  of 
the  expense  ;  that  the  trustees  and  their  constituents  may  settle 
as  they  please.  But  the  destruction  of  sylvan  beauty  is  great, 
when  the  breadth  of  the  road  is  more  than  proportioned  to  the 
vale  through  which  it  runs,  and  lowers  of  course  the  conse- 
quence of  any  objects  of  wood  or  water,  or  broken  and  varied 
ground,  which  might  otherwise  attract  notice,  and  give  pleasure, 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


29 


A  bubbling  runnel  by  the  side  of  one  of  those  modern  Appian 
or  Flaminian  highways,  is  but  like  a  kennel, — the  little  hill  is 
diminished  to  a  hillock, — the  romantic  hillock  to  a  mole-hill, 
almost  too  small  for  sight. 

Such  an  enormity,  however,  had  destroyed  the  quiet  loneli- 
ness of  Duntarkin,*  and  intruded  its  breadth  of  dust  and 
gravel,  and  its  associations  of  pochays  and  mail-coaches,  upon 
one  of  the  most  sequestered  spots  in  the  Middle  Ward  of 
Clydesdale.  The  house  was  old  and  dilapidated,  and  looked 
sorry  for  itself,  as  if  sensible  of  a  derogation  ;  but  the  sign  was 
strong  and  new,  and  brightly  painted,  displaying  a  heraldic 
shield,  three  shuttles  in  a  field  diaprd,  a  web  partly  unfolded 
for  crest,  and  two  stout  giants  for  supporters,  each  one  holding 
a  weaver's  beam  proper.  To  have  displayed  this  monstrous 
emblem  on  the  front  of  the  house  might  have  hazarded  bringing 
down  the  wall,  but  for  certain  would  have  blocked  up  one  or 
two  windows.  It  was  therefore  established  independent  of  the 
mansion,  being  displayed  in  an  iron  framework,  and  suspended 
upon  two  posts,  with  as  much  wood  and  iron  about  it  as  would 
have  builded  a  brig ;  and  there  it  hung,  creaking,  groaning,  and 
screaming  in  every  blast  of  wind,  and  frightening  for  five 
miles'  distance,  for  aught  I  know,  the  nests  of  thrushes  and 
linnets,  the  ancient  denizens  of  the  little  glen. 

When  I  entered  the  place  I  was  received  by  Christie  Steele 
herself,  who  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  drop  me  in  the 
kitchen,  or  usher  me  into  a  separate  apartment.  As  I  called 
for  tea,  with  something  rather  more  substantial  than  bread  and 
butter,  and  spoke  of  supping  and  sleeping,  Christie  at  last 
inducted  me  into  the  room  where  she  herself  had  been  sitting, 
probably  the  only  one  which  had  a  fire,  though  the  month  was 
October.  This  answered  my  plan  ;  and,  as  she  was  about  to 
remove  her  spinning-wheel,  I  begged  she  would  have  the  good- 
ness to  remain  and  make  my  tea,  adding,  that  I  liked  the  sound 
of  the  wheel,  and  desired  not  to  disturb  her  housewife-thrift  in 
the  least. 

"  I  dinna  ken,  sir," — she  replied  in  a  dry  reiicche  tone,  which 
carried  me  back  twenty  years ;  "  I  am  nane  of  thae  heartsome 
landleddies  that  can  tell  country  cracks,  and  make  themsells 
agreeable  ;  and  I  was  ganging  to  pit  on  a  fire  for  you  in  the 
Red  Room  ;  but  if  it  is  your  will  to  stay  here,  he  that  pays  the 
lawing  maun  choose  the  lodging." 

I  endeavored  to  engage  her  in  conversation  ;  but,  though 
she  answered  with  a  kind  of  stiff  civility,  I  could  get  her  into 

*  [Mr.  Lockhart  informs  us  that  this  demesne  is  sketched  from  that  of 
C^rmichael,  the  ancient  mansion  of  the  noble  family  9f  Hyncjford.1 


30 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGA  TE. 


r\o  freedom  of  discourse,  and  she  began  to  look  at  her  wheel 
and  at  the  door  more  than  once,  as  if  she  meditated  a  retreat. 
I  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  proceed  to  some  special  questions 
that  might  have  interest  for  a  person,  whose  ideas  were  prob- 
ably of  a  very  bounded  description. 

I  looked  round  the  apartment,  being  the  same  in  which  I 
had  last  seen  my  poor  mother.  The  author  of  the  family 
history,  formerly  mentioned,  had  taken  great  credit  to  himself 
for  the  improvements  he  had  made  in  this  same  jointure-house 
of  Duntarkin,  and  how,  upon  his  marriage,  when  his  mother 
took  possession  of  the  same  as  her  jointure-house,  *'  to  his 
great  charges  and  expenses  he  caused  box  the  walls  of  the 
great  parlor  "  (in  which  I  was  now  sitting),  "  empanel  the  same, 
and  plaster  the  roof,  finishing  the  apartment  with  ane  concave 
chimney,  and  decorating  the  same  with  pictures,  and  a  barom- 
eter and  thermometer."  And  in  particular,  which  his  good 
mother  used  to  say  she  prized  above  all  the  rest,  he  had  caused 
his  own  portraiture  be  limned  over  the  mantelpiece  by  a 
skilful  hand.  And,  in  good  faith,  there  he  remained  still, — 
having  much  the  visage  which  I  was  disposed  to  ascribe  to  him 
on  the  evidence  of  his  handwriting, — grim  and  austere,  yet 
not  without  a  cast  of  shrewdness  and  determination  ;  in  armor, 
though  he  never  wore  it,  I  fancy;  one  hand  on  an  open  book, 
and  one  resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  though,  I  dare  say, 
his  head  never  ached  with  reading  nor  his  limbs  with  fencing. 

"That  picture  is  painted  on  the  wood,  madam?"  said  I. 

'*  Ay,  sir,  or  it's  like  it  would  not  have  been  left  there.  They 
took  a'  they  could." 

"  Mr.  Treddlcs's  creditors,  you  mean  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Na,"  replied  she,  dryly,  "  the  creditors  of  another  family, 
that  sweepit  cleaner  than  this  poor  man's,  because,  I  fancy, 
there  was  less  to  gather." 

"  An  older  family,  perhaps,  and  probably  more  remembered 
and  regretted  than  later  possessors  ?  " 

Christie  here  settled  herself  in  her  seat,  and  pulled  her 
•wheel  toward  her.  I  had  given  her  something  interesting  for 
her  thoughts  to  dwell  upon,  and  her  wheel  was  a  mechanical 
accompaniment  on  such  occasions,  the  revolutions  of  which 
assisted  her  in  the  explanation  of  her  ideas. 

"  Mair  regretted — mair  missed  ? — I  liked  ane  of  the  auld 
family  very  weel,  but  I  winna  say  that  for  them  a'.  How 
should  they  be  mair  missed  than  the  Treddleses  ?  The  cotton 
mill  was  such  a  thing  for  the  country !  The  mair  bairns  a 
cottar  body  had  the  better  ;  they  would  make  their  awn  keep 
frae   the   time  they  were  five  years  auld ;  and  a  widow,  wi' 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


3» 


three  or  four  bairns,  was  a  wealthy  woman  in  the  time  of  the 
Treddleses." 

"But  the  health  of  these  poor  chMdren,  my  good  friend-^ 
their  education  and  religious  instruction  " 

"For  health,"  said  Christie,  looking  gloomily  at  me,  "ye 
maun  ken  little  of  the  warld,  sir,  if  ye  dinna  ken  that  the 
health  of  the  poor  man's  body,  as  weel.  as  his  youth  and  his 
strength,  are  all  at  the  command  of  the  rich  man's  purse. 
There  never  was  a  trade  so  unhealthy  yet,  but  men  would 
fight  to  get  wark  at  it  for  twa  pennies  a-day  aboon  the  common 
wage.  But  the  bairns  were  reasonably  weel  cared  for,  in  the 
way  of  air  and  exercise,  and  a  very  responsible  youth  heard 
them  their  carritch,  and  gied  them  lessons  in  Reediemadeasy.* 
Now,  what  did  they  ever  get  before  ?  Maybe  on  a  winter  day 
they  wad  be  called  out  to  beat  the  wood  for  cocks  or  sicklilce, 
and  then  the  starving  weans  would  maybe  get  a  bite  of  broken 
bread  and  maybe  no,  just  as  the  butler  was  in  humor — that 
was  a'  they  got." 

"  They  were  not,  then,  a  very  kind  family  to  the  poor,  these 
old  possessors  ?  "  said  I,  somewhat  bitterly  ;  for  I  had  expected 
to  hear  my  ancestors'  praises  recorded,  though  I  certainly  de- 
spaired of  being  regaled  with  my  own. 

"They  werena  ill  to  them,  sir,  and  that  is  aye  something. 
They  were  just  decent  bien  bodies  ; — ony  poor  creature  that 
had  face  to  beg,  got  an  awmous  and  welcome  ;  they  that  were 
shamefaced  gaed  by,  and  twice  as  welcome.  But  they  keepit 
an  honest  walk  before  God  and  man,  the  Croftangrys,  and  as  I 
said  before,  if  they  did  little  good,  they  did  as  little  ill.  They 
lifted  their  rents  and  spent  them,  called  in  their  kain  and  ate 
them  ;  gaed  to  the  kirk  of  a  Sunday,  bowed  civilly  if  folk  took 
aff  their  bannets  as  they  gaed  by,  and  lookit  as  black  as  sin  at 
them  that  keepit  them  on." 

"These  are  their  arms  that  you  have  on  the  sign  ?  " 

"What !  on  the  painted  board  that  is  skirling  and  groaning 
at  the  door  ? — Na,  these  are  Mr.  Treddles's  arms — though  they 
look  as  like  legs  as  arms — ill  pleased  I  was  at  the  fule  thing, 
that  cost  as  muckle  as  would  hae  repaired  the  house  from  the 
wa'  stane  to  the  riggin-tree.  But  if  I  am  to  bide  here,  I'll  hae 
a  decent  board  wi'  a  punch-bowl  on  it." 

"  Is  there  a  doubt  of  your  staying  here,  Mrs.  Steele  ? " 

"  Dinna  Mistress  me,"  said  the  cross  old  woman,  whose 
fingers  were  now  plying  their  thrift  in  a  manner  which  indi- 
cated nervous  irritation — "  there  was  nae  luck  in  the  land  since 
Luckje  turned  Mistress,  and  Mistress  my  Leddy  ;  and  as  fci 
?  "  Reading  made  Easy,"  usually  so  pronounced  in  Scotland. 


32 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANOXGA  TE. 


Staying  here,  if  it  concerns  you  to  ken,  I  may  stay  if  I  can  pay 
a  hundred  pund  sterling  for  the  lease,  and  I  may  flit  if  I  canna; 
and  so  gude-e'en  to  you,  Christie," — and  round  went  the  wheel 
with  much  activity. 

"And  you  like  the  trade  of  keeping  a  public  house  ?  " 

"  I  can  scarce  say  that,'"  she  replied.  "  But  worthy  Mr. 
Prendergast  is  clear  of  its  lawfulness,  and  I  hae  gotten  used  to 
it,  and  made  a  decent  living,  though  I  never  make  out  a  fause 
reckoning,  or  give  ony  ane  the  means  to  disorder  reason,  in  my 
house." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  I  ;  "in  that  case,  there  is  no  wonder  you 
have  not  made  up  the  hundred  pounds  to  purchase  the  lease." 

"  How  do  you  ken,"  said  she  sharply,  "  that  I  might  not 
have  had  a  hundred  punds  of  my  ain  fee  ?  If  I  have  it  not,  I 
am  sure  it  is  my  ain  faut ;  and  1  wunna  ca'  it  faut  neither,  for 
it  gaed  to  her  wha  was  weel  entitled  to  a'  my  service."  Again 
she  pulled  stoutly  at  the  flax,  and  the  wheel  went  smartly 
round. 

"  This  old  gentleman,"  said  I,  fixing  my  eye  on  the  painted 
panel,  "  seems  to  have  had  his  arms  painted  as  well  as 
Mr.  Treddles — that  is,  if  that  painting  in  the  corner  be  a 
scutcheon." 

"  Ay,  ay, — cushion  just  sae,  they  maun  a'  hae  their  cushions  ; 
there's  sma'  gentry  without  that ;  and  so  the  arms,  as  they  ca' 
them,  of  the  house  of  Glentanner  may  be  seen  on  an  auld 
stane  in  the  west  end  of  the  house.  But  to  do  them  justice, 
they  didna  propale  sae  muckle  about  them  as  poor  Mr.  Tred- 
dles did  ; — it's  like  they  were  better  used  to  them." 

"  Very  likely — Are  there  any  of  the  old  family  in  life,  good- 
wife  !  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  ;  then  added,  after  a  moment's  hesitation 
— "  not  that  I  know  of," — and  the  wheel,  which  had  intermitted, 
began  again  to  revolve. 

"  Gone  abroad,  perhaps  ?  "  I  suggested. 

She  now  looked  up,  and  faced  me — "  No,  sir.  There  were 
three  sons  of  the  last  Laird  of  Glentanner,  as  he  was  then 
called  ;  John  and  William  were  hopeful  young  gentlemen,  but 
they  died  early — one  of  a  decline,  brought  on  by  the  mizzles, 
the  other  lost  his  life  in  a  fever.  It  would  hae  been  lucky  for 
mony  ane  that  Chrystal  had  gane  the  same  gate." 

"  Oh — he  must  have  been  the  young  spendthrift  that  sold  the 
property?  Well,  but  you  should  not  have  such  an  ill-will  against 
him  :  remember  necessity  has  no  law  ;  and  then,  goodwife,  he 
v/as  not  more  culpable  than  Mr.  Treddles,  whom  you  are  so 
sorry  for," 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


33 


"  I  wish  I  could  think  sae,  sir,  for  his  mother's  sake  ;  but 
Mr.  Tredclles  was  in  trade,  and  though  he  had  no  preceese  right 
to  do  so,  yet  there  was  some  warrant  for  a  man  being  expen- 
sive that  imagined  he  w^as  making  a  mint  of  money.  But  this 
unhappy  lad  devoured  his  patrimony,  when  he  kenned  that  he 
was  living  like  a  ratten  in  a  Dunlap  cheese,  and  diminishing 
his  means  at  a'  hands — I  canna  bide  to  think  on't."  With 
this  she  broke  out  into  a  snatch  of  a  ballad  ;  but  little  of  mirth 
was  there  either  in  the  tone  or  the  expression  : — 

"  For  he  did  spend,  and  make  an  end 
Of  gear  that  his  forefathers  wan  ; 
Of  land  and  ware  he  made  him  bare, 

So  speak  nae  mair  of  the  auld  gudeman." 

"  Come,  dame,"  said  I,  "it  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turn- 
ing. I  will  not  keep  from  you  that  I  have  heard  something  of 
this  poor  fellow,  Chrystal  Croftangry.  He  has  sown  his  wild 
oats,  as  they  say,  and  has  settled  into  a  steady  respectable 
man." 

"  And  wha  tell'd  ye  that  tidings  .-'  "  said  she,  looking  sharply 
at  me. 

"  Not  perhaps  the  best  judge  in  the  world  of  his  character, 
for  it  was  himself,  dame." 

"  And  if  he  tell'd  you  truth,  it  was  a  virtue  he  did  not  aye 
use  to  practice,"  said  Christie. 

"  The  devil  ! "  said  I,  considerably  nettled  ;  "  all  the  world 
held  him  to  be  a  man  of  honor." 

'*  A}'',  ay,  he  would  hae  shot  ony  body  wi*  his  pistols  and  his 
guns,  that  had  evened  him  to  be  a  liar.  But  if  he  promised  to 
pay  an  honest  tradesman  the  next  term  day,  did  he  keep  his 
word  then  .-'  And  if  he  promised  a  puir  silly  lass  to  make  gude 
her  shame,  did  he  speak  truth  then  ?  And  what  is  that,  but 
being  a  liar,  and  a  black-hearted  deceitful  liar  to  boot  ? " 

My  indignation  was  rising,  but  I  strove  to  suppress  it  ;  in- 
deed, I  should  only  have  afforded  my  tormentor  a  triumph  by 
an  angry  reply.  I  partly  suspected  she  began  to  recognize  me  ; 
yet  she  testified  so  little  emotion,  that  I  could  not  think  my 
suspicion  well  founded.  I  went  on  therefore,  to  say,  in  a  tone 
as  indifferent  as  I  could  command,  "  Well,  goodwife,  I  see  you 
will  believe  no  good  of  this  Chrystal  of  yours,  till  he  comes 
back  and  buys  a  good  farm  on  the  estate,  and  makes  you  his 
housekeeper." 

The  old  woman  dropped  her  thread,  folded  her  hands,  as 
she  looked  up  to  heaven  with  a  face  of  apprehension.  "  The 
Lord,"  she  exclaimed,  "forbiri  i  The  Lord  in  his  mercy  forbid  1 


34  CBRON/ClES  of  7V/E  CANONGATE. 

Oh,  sir,  if  you  really  know  this  unlucky  man,  persuade  him  to 
settle  where  folk  ken  the  good  that  you  say  he  has  come  to, 
and  dinna  ken  the  evil  of  his  former  days.  He  used  to  be 
proud  enough — Oh,  dinna  let  him  come  here,  even  for  his  own 
sake. — He  used  ance  to  have  some  pride." 

Here  she  once  more  drew  the  wheel  close  to  her,  and  began 
to  pull  at  the  flax  with  both  hands — "  Dinna  let  him  come 
here,  to  be  looked  down  upon  by  ony  that  may  be  left  of  his 
auld  reiving  companions,  and  to  see  the  decent  folk  that  he 
looked  over  his  nose  at  look  over  their  noses  at  him,  baith  at 
kirk  and  market.  Dinna  let  him  come  to  his  ain  country  to 
be  made  a  tale  about  when  ony  neighbor  points  him  out  to 
another,  and  tells  what  he  is,  and  what  he  was,  and  how  he 
wrecked  a  dainty  estate,  and  brought  harlots  to  the  door-cheek 
of  his  father's  house,  till  he  made  it  nae  residence  for  his 
mother ;  and  how  it  had  been  foretauld  by  a  servant  of  his  ain 
house,  that  he  was  a  ne'er-do-weel,  and  a  child  of  perdition,  and 
how  her  words  were  made  good,  and  " 

"  Stop  there,  goodwife,  if  you  please,"  said  I  ;  "  you  have 
said  as  much  as  I  can  well  remember,  and  more  than  it  may  be 
safe  to  repeat.  I  can  use  a  great  deal  of  freedom  with  the 
gentleman  we  speak  of ;  but  I  think  were  any  other  person  to 
carry  him  half  of  your  message,  I  would  scarce  ensure  his  per- 
sonal safety.  And  now,  as  I  see  the  night  is  settled  to  be  a 
fine  one,  I  will  walk  on  to ,  where  I  must  meet  a  coach  to- 
morrow, as  it  passes  to  Edinburgh." 

So  saying,  I  paid  my  moderate  reckoning,  and  took  my 
leave,  without  being  able  to  discover  whether  the  prejudiced 
and  hard-hearted  old  woman  did,  or  did  not,  suspect  the  iden- 
tity of  her  guest  with  the  Chrystal  Croftangry  against  whom  she 
harbored  so  much  dislike. 

The  night  was  fine  and  frosty,  though,  when  I  pretended  to 
see  what  its  character  was,  it  might  have  rained  like  the  deluge. 
I  only  made  the  excuse  to  escape  from  old  Christie  Steele. 
The  horses  which  run  races  in  the  Corso  at  Rome  without  any 
riders,  in  order  to  stimulate  their  exertion,  carry  each  his  own 
spurs,  namely,  small  balls  of  steel,  with  sharp  projecting  spikes, 
which  are  attached  to  loose  straps  of  leather,  and  flying  about 
in  the  violence  of  the  agitation,  keep  the  horse  to  his  speed  by 
pricking  him  as  thev  strike  against  his  flanks.  The  old  woman's 
reproaches  had  the  same  effect  on  me,  and  urged  me  to  a  rapid 
pace,  as  if  it  had  been  possible  to  escape  from  my  own  recol- 
lections. In  the  best  days  of  my  life,  when  I  won  one  or  two 
hard  walking  matches,  I  doubt  if  I  ever  walked  so  fast  as  I  did 
betwixt  the  Treddles  Arms  and  the  borough  town  for  which  I 


ClfRONICLES   OF  THE    CANONGATE.  3$ 

was  bound.  Though  the  night  was  cold,  I  was  warm  enough 
by  the  time  I  got  to  my  inn;  and  it  required  a  refreshing 
draught  of  porter,  with  half-an-hour's  repose,  ere  I  could  deter- 
mine to  give  no  further  thought  to  Christie  and  her  opinions, 
than  those  of  any  other  vulgar  prejudiced  old  woman.  I  re- 
solved at  last  to  treat  the  thing  en  ImgateHe,  and  calling  for 
writing  materials,  I  folded  up  a  check  for  ^loo,  with  these 
lines  on  the  envelope  : — 

"  Chrystal,  the  ne'er-do-weel, 
Child  destined  to  tlie  deil, 
Sends  this  to  Christie  Steele." 

And  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  this  new  mode  of  viewing  the 
subject,  that  I  regretted  the  lateness  of  the  hour  prevented  my 
finding  a  person  to  carry  the  letter  express  to  its  destination. 

"  But  with  the  morning  cool  reflection  came." 

I  considered  that  the  money,  and  probably  more,  was  actually 
due  by  me  on  my  mother's  account  to  Christie,  who  had  lent 
it  in  a  moment  of  great  necessity,  and  that  the  returning  it  in 
a  light  or  ludicrous  manner  was  not  unlikely  to  prevent  so 
touchy  and  punctilious  a  person  from  accepting  a  debt  which 
was  most  justly  her  due,  and  which  it  became  me  particularly 
to  see  satisfied.  Sacrificing  then  my  triad  M'ith  little  regret 
(for  it  looked  better  by  candle-light,  and  through  the  medium 
of  a  pot  of  porter,  than  it  did  by  daylight,  and  with  bohea  for 
a  menstruum),  I  determined  to  employ  Mr.  Fairscribe's  media- 
tion in  buying  up  the  lease  of  the  little  inn,  and  conferring  it 
upon  Christie  in  the  way  which  should  make  it  most  accepta- 
ble to  her  feelings.  It  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that  my  plan 
succeeded,  and  that  Widow  Steele  even  yet  keeps  the  Treddles 
Arms.  Do  not  say,  therefore,  that  I  have  been  disingenuous 
with  you,  reader ;  since,  if  I  have  not  told  all  the  ill  of  myself 
I  might  have  done,  I  have  indicated  to  you  a  person  able  and 
willing  to  supply  the  blank  by  relating  all  my  delinquencies,  as 
well  as  my  misfortunes. 

In  the  meantime,  I  totally  abandoned  the  idea  of  redeeming 
any  part  of  my  paternal  propertv,  and  resolved  to  take  Christie 
Steele's  advice,  as  young  Norval  does  Glenalvon's,  "  although 
it  sounded  harshly." 


36  CHROmCLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE, 


CHAPTER  FIFTH. 

MR.    CROFTANGRY    SETTLES    IN    THE   CANONGATE. 

If  you  will  know  my  house, 

'Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives  here  hard  by. 

As  You  Like  It. 

By  a  revolution  of  humor  which  I  am  unable  to  account  for, 
I  changed  my  nunc!  entirely  on  my  plans  of  life,  in  consequence 
of  the  disappointment,  the  history  of  which  fills  the  last  chapter. 
I  began  to  discover  that  the  country  would  not  at  all  suit  me  : 
for  I  had  relinquished  field-sports,  and  felt  no  inclination  what- 
ever to  farming,  the  ordinary  vocation  of  country  gentlemen  ; 
besides  that,  I  had  no  talent  for  assisting  either  candidate,  in 
case  of  an  expected  election,  and  saw  no  amusement  in  the 
duties  of  a  road-trustee,  a  commissioner  of  supply,  or  even  in 
the  magisterial  functions  of  the  bench.  I  had  begun  to  take 
some  taste  for  reading  ;  and  a  domiciliation  in  the  country  must 
remove  me  from  the  use  of  books,  except  the  small  subscrip- 
tion library,  in  which  the  very  book  which  you  want  is  uniformly 
sure  to  be  engaged. 

I  resolved  therefore  to  make  the  Scottish  metropolis  my 
regular  resting-place,  reserving  to  myself  to  take  occasionally 
those  excursions,  which,  spite  of  all  I  have  said  against  mail- 
coaches,  Mr.  Piper  has  rendered  so  easy.  Friend  of  our  life 
and  of  our  leisure,  he  secures  by  despatch  against  loss  of  time, 
and  by  the  best  of  coaches,  cattle,  and  the  steadiest  of  drivers, 
against  hazard  of  limb,  and  wafts  us,  as  well  as  our  letters,  from 
Edinburgh  to  Cape  Wrath,  in  the  penning  of  a  paragraph. 

When  my  mind  was  quite  made  up  to  make  Auld  Reekie 
my  head-quarters,  reserving  the  privilege  of  exploring  in  all 
directions,  I  began  to  explore  in  good  earnest  for  the  purpose 
of  discovering  a  suitable  habitation.  "  And  whare  trew  ye  I 
gaed  1 "  as  Sir  Pertinax  says.  Not  to  George's  Square — nor  to 
Charlotte  Square — nor  to  the  old  New  Town — nor  to  the  new 
New  Town — nor  to  the  Calton  Hill ;  I  went  to  the  Canongate, 
and  to  the  very  portion  of  the  Canongate  in  which  I  had  for- 
merly been  immured,  like  the  errant  knight,  prisoner  in  some 
enchanted  castle,  where  spells  have  made  the  ambient  air  im- 
pervious to  tlie  unhappy  captive,  although  the  organs  of  sight 
encountered  no  obstacle  to  his  free  passage. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


37 


Why  I  should  have  thought  of  pitching  my  tent  here  I 
cannot  tell.  Perhaps  it  was  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  freedom, 
where  I  had  so  long  endured  the  bitterness  of  restraint ;  on  the 
principle  of  the  officer,  who,  after  he  had  retired  from  the  army, 
ordered  his  servant  to  continue  to  call  him  at  the  hour  of 
parade,  simply  that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  saying — 
"  D — n  the  parade  !  "  and  turning  to  the  other  side  to  enjoy 
his  slumbers.  Or  perhaps  I  expected  to  find  in  the  vicinity 
some  little  old-fashioned  house,  having  somewhat  of  the  riis  in 
urbe,  which  I  was  ambitious  of  enjoying.  Enough,  I  went  as 
aforesaid  to  the  Canongate. 

I  stood  by  the  kennel,  of  which  I  have  formerly  spoken, 
and,  my  mind  being  at  ease,  my  bodily  organs  were  more  deli- 
cate.    I  was  more  sensible  than  heretofore,  that,  like  the  trade 

of  Pompey  in  Measure  for  Measure — it  did  in  some  sort 

pah — an  ounce  of  civet,  good  apothecary  ! — Turning  from 
thence,  my  steps  naturally  directed  themselves  to  my  own 
humble  apartment,  where  my  little  Highland  landlady,  as  dap- 
per and  as  tight  as  ever  (for  old  women  wear  a  hundred  times 
better  than  the  hard-wrought  seniors  of  the  masculine  sex), 
stood  at  the  door  teedli?ig  to  herself  a  Highland  song  as  she 
shook  a  table  napkin  over  the  forestair,  and  then  proceeded  to 
fold  it  up  neatly  for  future  service. 

"  How  do  you,  Janet  ?  " 

"Thank  ye,  good  sir,"answered  my  old  friend,  without  look- 
ing at  me  ;  "  but  ye  might  as  weel  say  Mrs.  MacEvoy,  for  she 
is  na  a'body's  Shanet — umph." 

*'  You  must  be  my  Janet,  though,  for  all  that — have  you 
forgot  me  ? — Do  you  not  remember  Chrystal  Croftangry.?  " 

The  light,  kind-hearted  creature  threw  her  napkin  into  the 
open  door,  skipped  down  the  stair  like  a  fairy,  three  steps  at 
once,  seized  me  by  the  hands, — both  hands, — jumped  up,  and 
actually  kissed  me.  I  was  a  little  ashamed  ;  but  what  swain, 
of  somewhere  inclining  to  sixty,  could  resist  the  advances  of  a 
fair  contemporary?  So  we  allowed  the  full  degree  of  kindness 
to  the  meeting. — honi  salt  qui  inal  y  paise, — and  then  Janet 
entered  instantly  upon  business.  "  An'  ye'U  gae  in,  man,  and 
see  your  auld  lodgings,  nae  doubt,  and  Shanet  will  pay  ye  the 
fifteen  shillings  of  change  that  ye  ran  away  without,  and  with- 
out bidding  Shanet  good-day. — But  never  mind "  (nodding 
good-humoredly),  "  Shsnet  saw  you  were  carried  for  the 
time." 

By  this  time  we  were  in  my  old  quarters,  and  Janet,  with 
her  bottle  of  cordial  in  one  hand  and  the  glass  in  the  other, 
had  forced  on  me  a  dram  of  usquebaugh,  distilled  with  saffroq 


38  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

and  other  herbs,  after  some  old-fashioned  Highland  receipt 
Then  was  unfolded,  out  of  many  a  little  scrap  of  paper,  the 
reserved  sum  of  fifteen  shillings,  which  Janet  had  treasured  for 
twenty  years  and  upward. 

"  Here  they  are,"  she  said,  in  honest  triumph,  "  just  the  same 
1  was  holding  out  to  ye  when  ye  ran  as  if  ye  had  been  fey. 
Shanet  has  had  siller,  and  Shanet  has  wanted  siller,  mony  a 
time  since  that — and  the  ganger  has  come,  and  the  factor  has 
come,  and  the  butcher  and  baker — Cot  bless  us — just  like  to 
tear  poor  auld  Shanet  to  pieces ;  but  she  took  good  care  of  Mr. 
Croftangry's  fifteen  shillings." 

"  But  what  if  I  had  never  come  back,  Janet  ? " 

"  Och,  if  Shanet  had  heard  you  were  dead,  she  would  hae 
gien  it  to  the  poor  of  the  chapel,  to  pray  for  Mr.  Croftangry," 
said  Janet,  crossing  herself,  for  she  was  a  Catholic ; — "  you 
maybe  do  not  think  it  would  do  you  cood,  but  the  blessing  of 
the  poor  can  never  do  no  harm." 

I  heartily  agree  in  Janet's  conclusion  ;  and,  as  to  have 
desired  her  to  consider  the  hoard  as  her  own  property,  would 
have  been  an  indelicate  return  to  her  for  the  uprightness  of  her 
conduct,  I  requested  her  to  dispose  of  it  as  she  had  proposed 
to  do  in  the  event  of  my  death,  that  is,  if  she  knew  any  poor 
people  of  merit  to  whom  it  might  be  useful. 

"Ower  mony  of  them,"  raising  the  corner  of  her  checked 
apron  to  her  eyes,  "e'en  ower  money  of  them,  Mr.  Croftangry — 
Och,  ay — there  is  the  puir  Highland  creatures  frae  Glenshee, 
that  cam  down  for  the  harvest,  and  are  lying  wi'  the  fever — five 
shillings  to  them,  and  half-a-crown  to  Bessie  MacEvoy,  whose 
eoodman  puir  creature,  died  of  the  frost,  being  a  shairman,  for 
a'  the  whisky  he  could  drink  to  keep  it  out  o'  his  stomach — 
and  " 

But  she  suddenly  interrupted  the  bead-roll  of  her  proposed 
charities,  and  assuming  a  very  sage  look,  and  primming  up  her 
little  chattering  mouth,  she  went  on  in  a  different  tone — "  But, 
och,  Mr.  Croftangry,  bethink  ye  whether  ye  will  not  need  a' 
this  siller  yoursell,  and  maybe  look  back  and  think  long  for 
ha'en  kiven  it  away,  whilk  is  a  creat  sin  to  forthink  a  wark  o' 
charit}',  and  also  is  unlucky,  and,  moreover,  is  not  the  thought 
of  a  shentleman's  son  like  yoursell,  dear.  And  I  say  this,  that 
ye  may  think  a  bit ;  for  your  mother's  son  kens  that  ye  are  no 
so  careful  as  you  should  be  of  the  gear,  and  I  hae  tauld  ye  of 
it  before,  jewel." 

I  assured  her  I  could  easily  spare  the  money,  without  risk 
of  future  repentance  ;  and  she  went  on  to  infer,  that,  in  such  a 
case,  "  Mr.  Croftangry  had  growh  a  rich  man  in  foreign  partS| 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


39 


and  was  free  of  his  troubles  with  messengers  and  sheriff-officers, 
and  sicUke  scum  of  the  earth,  and  Shanet  MacEvoy's  mother's 
daughter  be  a  blithe  woman  to  hear  it.  But  if  Mr.  Croftangry 
was  in  trouble,  there  was  his  room,  and  his  ped,  and  Shanet  to 
wait  on  him,  and  tak  payment  when  it  was  quite  convenient." 

I  explained  to  Janet  my  situation,  in  which  she  expressed 
unqualified  delight.  1  then  proceeded  to  inquire  into  her  own 
circumstances,  and,  though  she  spoke  cheerfully  and  content- 
edly, I  could  see  they  were  precarious.  I  had  paid  more  than 
was  due  ;  other  lodgers  fell  into  an  opposite  error,  and  forgot 
to  pay  Janet  at  all.  Then,  Janet  being  ignorant  of  all  indirect 
modes  of  screwing  money  out  of  her  lodgers,  others  in  the 
same  line  of  life,  who  were  sharper  than  the  poor  simple  High- 
land woman,  were  enabled  to  let  their  apartments  cheaper  in 
appearance,  though  the  inmates  usually  found  them  twice  as 
dear  in  the  long-run. 

As  I  had  already  destined  my  old  landlady  to  be  my  house- 
keeper and  governante,  knowing  her  honesty,  good-nature,  and, 
although  a  Scotchwoman,  her  cleanliness  and  excellent  temper 
(saving  the  short  and  hasty  expressions  of  anger  which  High- 
landers call  a  fuff)-,  I  now  proposed  the  plan  to  her  in  such  a 
way  as  was  likely  to  make  it  most  acceptable.  Very  acceptable 
as  the  proposal  was,  as  I  could  plainly  see,  Janet,  however, 
took  a  day  to  consider  upon  it ;  and  her  reflections  against  our 
next  meeting  had  suggested  only  one  objection,  which  was 
singular  enough. 

"  My  honor,"  so  she  now  termed  me,  "  would  pe  for  biding 
in  some  fine  street  about  the  town  ;  now  Shanet  wad  ill  like  to 
live  in  a  place  where  polish,  and  sheriffs,  and  bailiffs,  and  sic 
thieves  and  trash  of  the  world,  could  tak  puir  shentlemen  by 
the  throat,  just  because  they  wanted  a  wheen  dollars  in  the 
sporran.  She  had  lived  in  the  bonny  glen  of  Tomanthoulick — ■ 
Cot,  an  ony  of  the  vermint  had  come  there,  her  father  wad  hae 
wared  a  shot  on  them,  and  he  could  hit  a  buck  within  as  mony 
measured  yards  as  e'er  a  man  of  his  clan.  And  the  place  here 
was  sae  quiet  frae  them,  they  durstna  put  their  nose  ower  the 
gutter,  Shanet  owed  nobody  a  bodle,  but  she  couldna  pide  to 
see  honest  folk  and  pretty  shentlemen  forced  away  to  prison 
whether  they  would  or  no ;  and  then  if  Shanet  was  to  lay  her 
tangs  ower  ane  of  the  ragamuffins'  heads,  it  would  be,  maybe, 
that  the  law  would  gie't  a  hard  name." 

One  thing  I  have  learned  in  life, — never  to  speak  sense  when 
nonsense  will  answer  the  purpose  as  well.  I  should  have  had 
great  difficulty  to  convince  this  practical  and  disinterested 
admirer  and  vindicator  of  liberty,  that  arrests  seldom  or  never 


4° 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANOAgATE. 


were  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh,  and  to  satisfy  hei 
of  their  justice  and  necessity,  would  have  been  as  difficult  as  to 
convert  her  to  the  Protestant  faith,  I  therefore  assured  her  my 
intention,  if  I  could  get  a  suitable  habitation,  was  to  remain  in 
the  quarter  where  she  at  present  dwelt.  Janet  gave  three  skips 
on  the  floor,  and  uttered  as  many  short  shrill  yells  of  joy ;  yet 
doubt  almost  instantly  returned,  and  she  insisted  on  knowing 
what  possible  reason  I  could  have  for  making  my  residence 
where  few  lived,  save  those  whose  misfortunes  drove  them 
thither.  It  occurred  to  me  to  answer  her  by  recounting  the 
legend  of  the  rise  of  my  family,  and  of  our  deriving  our  name 
from  a  particular  place  near  Holyrood  Palace.  This,  which 
would  have  appeared  to  most  people  a  very  absurd  reason  for 
choosing  a  residence,  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  Janet  Mac- 
Evoy. 

"  Och,  nae  doubt !  if  it  was  the  land  of  her  fathers,  there 
was  nae  mair  to  be  said.  Put  it  was  queer  that  her  family 
estate  should  just  lie  at  the  town  tail,  and  covered  with  houses, 
where  the  King's  cows.  Cot  bless  them  hide  and  horn,  used  to 
craze  upon.  It  was  strange  changes." — She  mused  a  little, 
and  then  added,  "  Put  it  is  something  better  wi'  Croftangrv 
when  the  changes  is  frae  the  field  to  the  habitated  place,  and 
not  from  the  place  of  habitation  to  the  desert ;  for  Shanet,  her 
nainsell,  kent  a  glen  where  there  were  men  as  weel  as  there 
may  be  in  Croftangry,  and  if  there  werena  altogether  sae  mony 
of  them,  they  were  as  cood  men  in  their  tartan  as  the  others 
in  their  broadcloth.  And  there  were  houses  too ;  and  if  they 
were  not  biggit  with  stane  and  lime,  and  lofted  like  the  houses 
at  Croftangry,  yet  they  served  the  purpose  of  them  that  lived 
there  ;  and  mony  a  braw  bonnet,  and  mony  a  silken  snood,  and 
comely  white  curch,  would  come  out  to  gang  to  kirk  or  chapel 
on  the  Lord's  day,  and  little  bairns  toddling  after ;  and  now, — 
Och,  Och,  Ohellany,  Ohonari !  the  glen  is  desolate,  and  the 
braw  snoods  and  bonnets  are  gane,  and  the  Saxon's  house 
stands  dull  and  lonely,  like  the  single  bare-breasted  rock  that 
the  falcon  builds  on — the  falcon  that  drives  the  heathbird  frae 
the  glen." 

Janet,  like  many  Highlanders  was  full  of  imagination  ;  and, 
when  melancholy  themes  came  upon  her,  expressed  herself 
almost  poetically,  owing  to  the  genius  of  the  Celtic  language  in 
which  she  thought,  and  in  which  doubtless,  she  would  have 
spoken,  had  I  understood  Gaelic.  In  two  minutes  the  shade  of 
gloom  and  regret  had  passed  from  her  good-humored  features, 
and  she  was  again  the  little  busy  prating,  important  old  woman, 
undisputed  owner  of  one  flat  of  a  small  tenement  in  the  Abbey 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  ChNONGATE.  4J 

yard,  and  about  to  be  promoted  to  be  housekeeper  to  an  elderly 
bachelor  gentleman,  Chrystal  Croftangry,  Esq. 

It  was  not  long  before  Janet's  local  researches  found  out 
exactly  the  sort  of  place  I  wanted,  and  there  we  settled.  Janet 
was  afraid  I  would  not  be  satisfied,  because  it  is  not  exactly 
part  of  Croftangry;  but  I  stopped  her  doubts,  by  assuring  her 
it  had  been  part  and  pendicle  thereof  in  my  forefathers'  time, 
which  passed  very  well. 

I  do  not  intend  to  possess  any  one  with  an  exact  knowledge 
of  my  lodging  ;  though,  as  Bobadil  says,  "  I  care  not  who  knows 
it,  since  the  cabin  is  convenient."  But  I  may  state  in  general, 
that  it  is  a  house  "  within  itself,"  or  according  to  a  newer 
phraseology  in  advertisements,  self-contamcd,  has  a  garden  of 
near  half-an-acre,  and  a  patch  of  ground  with  trees  in  front.  It 
boasts  five  rooms,  and  servants'  apartments — looks  in  front  upon 
the  palace,  and  from  behind  toward  the  hill  and  crags  of  the 
King's  Park.  Fortunately  the  place  had  a  name,  which,  with 
a  little  improvement,  served  to  countenance  the  legend  which  I 
had  imposed  on  Janet,  and  would  not  perhaps  have  been  sorry 
if  I  had  been  able  to  imposed  on  myself.  It  was  called  Little- 
croft  ;  we  have  dubbed  it  Little  Croftangry,  and  the  men  of 
letters  belonging  to  the  Post  Office  have  sanctioned  the  change, 
and  deliver  letters  so  addressed.  Thus  I  am,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  Chrystal  Croftangry  of  that  Ilk. 

My  establishment  consists  of  Janet,  an  under  maid-servant, 
and  a  Highland  wench  for  Janet  to  exercise  her  Gaelic  upon, 
with  a  handy  lad  who  can  lay  the  cloth,  and  take  care  besides 
of  a  pony,  on  which  I  find  my  way  to  Portobello  sands,  espe- 
cially when  the  cavalry  have  a  drill ;  for,  like  an  old  fool  as  I 
am,  I  have  not  altogether  become  indifferent  to  the  tramp  of 
horses  and  the  flash  of  weapons,  of  which,  though  no  profes- 
sional soldier,  it  has  been  my  fate  to  see  something  in  my  youth. 
For  wet  mornings,  I  have  my  book — is  it  fine  weather,  I  visit, 
or  I  wander  on  the  Crags,  as  the  humor  dictates.  My  dinner 
is  indeed  solitary,  yet  not  quite  sc  neither ;  for  though  Andrews 
waits,  Janet, — or,  as  she  is  to  all  the  world  but  her  master, 
and  certain  old  Highland  gossips, — Mrs.  MacEvoy,  attends, 
bustles  about,  and  desires  to  see  everything  is  in  first-rate  order, 
and  to  tell  me,  Cot  pless  us,  the  wonderful  news  of  the  Palace 
for  the  day.  When  the  cloth  is  removed,  and  I  light  my  cigar, 
and  being  to  husband  a  pint  of  port  or  a  glass  of  old  whisky 
and  water,  it  is  the  rule  of  the  house  that  Janet  takes  a  chair  at 
some  distance,  and  nods  or  works  her  stocking,  as  she  may  be 
disposed  ;  ready  to  speak  if  I  am  in  the  talking  humor,  and 
sitting  quiet  as  a  mouse  if  I  am  rather  inclined  to  study  a 


42 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CAxWONGATE. 


book  or  the  newspaper.  At  six  precisely  she  makes  my  tea, 
and  leaves  me  to  drink  it ;  and  then  occurs  an  interval  of  time 
which  most  old  bachelors  find  heavy  on  their  hands.  The 
theatre  is  a  good  occasional  resource,  especially  if  Will  Murray* 
acts,  or  a  bright  star  of  eminence  shines  forth  ;  but  it  is  distant, 
and  so  are  one  or  two  public  societies  to  which  I  belong  ;  be- 
sides, these  evening  walks  are  all  incompatible  with  the  elbow- 
chair  feeling,  which  desires  some  employment  that  may  divert 
the  mind  without  fatiguing  the  body. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  impressions,  I  have  sometimes 
thought  of  this  literary  undertaking.  I  must  have  been  the 
Bonassus  himself  to  have  mistaken  myself  for  a  genius,  yet  I 
have  leisure  and  reflection  like  my  neighbors.  I  am  a  borderer 
also  between  two  generations,  and  can  point  out  more  perhaps 
than  others  of  those  fading  traces  of  antiquity  which  are  daily 
vanishing ;  and  I  know  many  a  modern  instance  and  many  an 
old  tradition,  and  therefore  I  ask — 

What  ails  me,  1  may  not,  as  well  as  they, 

Rake  up  some  threadbare  tales,  that  mouldering  lay 

In  chimney  corners,  wont  by  Christmas  fires 

To  read  and  rock  to  sleep  our  ancient  sires  ? 

No  man  his  threshold  better  knows  than  I 

Brute's  first  arrival  and  first  victory. 

Saint  George's  sorrel  and  his  cross  of  blood. 

Arthur's  round  board  and  Caledonian  wood. 

No  shop  is  so  easily  set  up  as  an  antiquary's.  Like  those  of 
the  lowest  order  of  pawnbrokers,  a  commodity  of  rusty  iron, 
a  bag  or  two  of  hobnails,  a  few  old  shoebuckles,  cashiered  kail- 
pots,  and  fire-irons  declared  incapable  of  service,  are  quite 
sufficient  to  set  him  up.  If  he  add  a  sheaf  or  two  of  penny 
ballads  and  broadsides,  he  is  a  great  man — an  extensive  trader. 
And  then — like  the  pawnbrokers  aforesaid,  if  the  author  under- 
stands a  little  legerdemain,  he  ma}',  by  dint  of  a  little  picking 
and  stealing,  make  the  inside  of  his  shop  a  great  deal  richer 
than  the  out,  and  be  able  to  show  you  things  which  cause  those 
who  do  not  understand  the  antiquarian  trick  of  clean  convey- 
ance, to  wonder  how  the  devil  he  came  by  them. 

It  may  be  said  that  antiquarian  articles  interest  but  few 
customers,  and  that  we  may  bawl  ourselves  as  rusty  as 
the  wares  we  deal  in  without  any  one  asking  the  price  of  our 
merchandise.  But  I  do  not  rest  my  hopes  upon  this  depart- 
ment of  my  labors  only.  I  propose  also  to  have  a  corresponding 
shop  for    Sentiment,  and   Dialogues,   and   Disquisition,  which 

*  [Late  manager  of  the  Edinburgh  theatre.     See  Appendix.] 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


43 


may  captivate  the  fancy  of  those  who  have  no  reUsh,  as  the 
estabhshed  phrase  goes,  for  pure  antiquity  ; — a  sort  of  green- 
grocer's stall  erected  in  front  of  my  ironmongery  wares,  gar- 
landing the  rusty  memorials  of  ancient  times,  with  cresses, 
cabbages,  leeks,  and  water  purpy. 

As  I  have  some  idea  that  I  am  writing  too  well  to  be  under- 
stood, I  humble  myself  to  ordinary  language,  and  aver,  with 
becoming  modesty,  that  I  do  think  myself  capable  of  sustaining 
a  publication  of  a  miscellaneous  nature,  as  hke  to  the  Specta- 
tor or  the  Guardian,  the  Mirror  or  the  Lounger,  as  my  poor 
abilities  may  be  able  to  accomplish.  Not  that  I  have  any  pur- 
pose of  imitating  Johnson,  whose  general  power  of  learning  and 
expression  I  do  not  deny,  but  many  of  whose  Ramblers  are 
little  better  than  a  sort  of  pageant,  where  trite  and  obvious 
maxims  are  made  to  swagger  in  lofty  and  mystic  language,  and 
get  some  credit  only  because  they  are  not  easily  understood. 
There  are  some  of  the  great  Moralist's  papers  which  I  cannot 
peruse  without  thinking  on  a  second-rate  masquerade,  where 
the  best-known  and  least-esteemed  characters  in  town  march  in 
as  heroes,  and  sultans,  and  so  forth,  and,  by  dint  of  tawdry 
dresses,  get  some  consideration  until  they  are  found  out.  It  is 
not,  however,  prudent  to  commence  with  throwing  stones,  just 
when  I  am  striking  out  windows  of  my  own. 

I  think  even  the  local  situation  of  Little  Croftangry  may  be 
considered  as  favorable  to  my  undertaking.  A  nobler  contrast 
there  can  hardly  exist  than  that  of  the  huge  city,  dark  with 
the  smoke  of  ages,  and  groaning  with  the  various  sounds  of 
active  industry  or  idle  revel,  and  the  lofty  and  craggy  hill,  silent 
and  solitary  as  the  grave  ;  one  exhibiting  the  full  tide  of 
existence,  pressing  and  precipitating  itself  forward  with  the 
force  of  an  inundation  ;  the  other  resembling  some  time-worn 
anchorite,  whose  life  passes  as  silent  and  unobserved  as  the 
slender  rill  which  escapes  unheard,  and  scarce  seen,  from  the 
fountain  of  his  patron  saint.  The  city  resembles  the  busy 
temple  where  the  modern  Comus  and  Mammon  hold  their 
court,  and  thousands  sacrifice  ease,  independence,  and  virtue 
itself,  at  their  shrine  ;  the  misty  and  lonely  mountain  seems  as  a 
throne  to  the  majestic  but  terrible  Genius  of  feudal  times, 
when  the  same  divinities  dispensed  coronets  and  domains  to 
those  who  had  heads  to  devise,  and  arms  to  execute,  bold 
enterprises. 

I  have,  as  it  were,  the  two  extremities  of  the  moral  world  at 
my  threshold.  From  the  front  door,  a  few  minutes'  walk  brings 
me  into  the  heart  of  a  wealthy  and  populous  city  ;  as  many 
paces  from  my  opposite  entrance,  place  me  in  a  solitude  as  com- 


44 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


plete  as  Zimmerman  could  have  desired.  Surely,  with  such  aids 
to  my  imagination,  I  may  write  better  than  if  I  were  in  a  lodging 
in  the  New  Town,  or  a  garret  in  the  old.  As  the  Spaniard  says, 
"  Viamos — Caracco  I  " 

I  have  not  chosen  to  publish  periodically,  my  reason  for  which 
was  twofold.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  like  to  be  hurried,  and 
have  had  enough  of  duns  in  an  early  part  of  my  life,  to  make 
me  reluctant  to  hear  of,  or  see  one,  even  in  the  less  awful  shape 
of  a  printer's  devil.  But,  secondly,  a  periodical  paper  is  not 
easily  extended  in  circulation  beyond  the  quarter  in  which  it  is 
published.  This  work,  if  published  in  fugitive  numbers,  would 
scarce,  without  a  high  pressure  on  the  part  of  the  bookseller, 
be  raised  above  the  Netherbow,  and  never  could  be  expected  to 
ascend  to  the  level  of  Princes  SLreet.  Now,  I  am  ambitious 
that  my  compositions,  though  having  their  origin  in  this  Valley 
of  Holyrood,  should  not  only  be  extended  into  those  exalted 
regions  I  have  mentioned,  but  also  that  they  should  cross  the 
Forth,  astonish  the  long  town  of  Kirkcaldy,  enchant  the  skippers 
and  colliers  of  the  East  of  Fife,  venture  even  into  the  classic 
arcades  of  St.  Andrews,  and  travel  as  much  further  to  the  north 
as  the  breath  of  applause  will  carry  their  sails.  As  for  a  south- 
ward direction,  it  is  not  to  be  hoped  for  in  my  fondest  dreams. 
I  am  informed  that  Scottish  literature,  like  Scottish  whisky,  will 
be  presently  laid  under  a  prohibitory  duty.  But  enough  of  this. 
If  any  reader  is  dull  enough  not  to  comprehend  the  advantages 
which,  in  point  of  circulation,  a  compact  book  has  over  a  collec- 
tion of  fugitive  numbers,  let  him  try  the  range  of  a  gun  loaded 
with  hail-shot,  against  that  of  the  same  piece  charged  with  an 
equal  weight  of  lead  consolidated  in  a  single  bullet. 

Besides,  it  was  of  less  consequence  that  I  should  have  pub- 
lished periodically,  since  I  did  not  mean  to  solicit  or  accept  of 
the  contributions  of  friends,  or  the  criticisms  of  those  who  may 
be  less  kindly  disposed.  Notwithstanding  the  excellent  exam- 
ples which  might  be  quoted,  I  will  establish  no  begging-box, 
either  under  the  name  of  a  lion's  head  or  an  ass's.  What  is  good 
or  ill  shall  be  mine  own,  or  the  contribution  of  friends  to  whom 
I  may  have  private  access.  Many  of  my  voluntary  assistants 
might  be  cleverer  than  myself,  and  then  I  should  have  a  brilliant 
article  appear  among  my  chiller  effusions,  like  a  patch  of  lace  on 
a  Scottish  cloak  of  Galashiels  gray.  Some  might  be  worse,  and 
then  I  must  reject  them,  to  the  injury  of  the  feelings  of  the 
writer,  or  else  insert  them,  to  make  my  own  darkness  yet  more 
opaque  and  palpable.  "  Let  every  herring,"  says  our  old-fashion- 
proverb,   "  hang  by  his  own  head." 

One  person,  however,  I  may  distinguish,  as  she  is  now  no 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


45 


more,  who,  living  to  the  utmost  term  of  human  life,  honored  me 
with  a  great  share  of  her  friendship,  as  indeed  we  were  blood  re- 
latives in  the  Scottish  sense — Heaven  knows  how  many  degrees 
removed — and  friends  in  the  sense  of  Old  England.  I  mean  the 
late  excellent  and  regretted  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol.  But  as  I 
design  this  admirable  picture  of  the  olden  time  for  a  principal 
character  in  my  work,  I  will  only  say  here  that  she  knew  and 
approv^ed  of  my  present  purpose  ;  and  though  she  declined  to 
contribute  to  it  while  she  lived,  from  a  sense  of  dignified  retire- 
ment, which  she  thought  became  her  age,  sex,  and  condition  in 
life,  she  left  me  some  materials  for  carrying  on  my  proposed 
work,  which  I  coveted  when  I  heard  her  detail  them  in  conver- 
sation, and  which  now,  when  I  have  their  substance  in  her  own 
handwriting,  I  account  far  more  valuable  than  anything  I  have 
myself  to  offer.  I  hope  the  mentioning  her  name  in  conjunction 
with  my  own,  will  give  no  offence  to  any  of  her  numerous  friends, 
as  it  was  her  own  express  pleasure  that  I  should  employ  the 
manuscripts,  which  she  did  me  the  honor  to  bequeath  me,  in 
the  manner  in  which  I  have  now  used  them.  It  must  be  added, 
however,  that  in  most  cases  I  have  disguised  names,  and  in  some 
have  added  shading  and  coloring  to  bring  out  the  narrative. 

Much  of  my  materials,  besides  these,  arc  derived  from  friends, 
living  or  dead.  The  accuracy  of  some  of  these  may  be  doubtful, 
in  which  case  I  shall  be  happy  to  receive,  from  sufficient  author- 
ity, the  correction  of  the  errors  which  must  creep  into  traditional 
documents.  The  object  of  the  whole  publication  is,  to  throw 
some  light  on  the  manners  of  Scotland,  as  they  were,  and  to 
contrast  them  occasionally  with  those  of  the  present  day.  My 
own  opinions  are  in  favor  of  our  own  times,  in  many  respects, 
but  not  in  so  far  as  affords  means  for  exercising  the  imagination, 
or  exciting  the  interest  which  attaches  to  other  times.  I  am 
glad  to  be  a  writer  or  a  reader  in  1826,  but  I  would  be  most 
interested  in  reading  or  relating  what  happened  from  half-a 
century  to  a  century  before.  We  have  the  best  of  it.  Scenes 
in  which  our  ancestors  thought  deeply,  acted  fiercely,  and  died 
desperately,  are  to  us  tales  to  divert  the  tedium  of  a  winter's 
evening,  when  we  are  engaged  to  no  party,  or  beguile  a  summer's 
morning,  when  it  is  too  scorching  to  ride  or  walk. 

Yet  I  do  not  mean  that  my  essays  and  narratives  should  be 
limited  to  Scotland.  I  pledge  myself  to  no  particular  line  of 
subjects  •  but  on  the  contrary,  say  with  Burns, 

Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 
Perhaps  turn  out  a  sermon. 

I  have  only  to  add,  by  way  of  postscript  to  these  preliminat^' 


^6  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONCATE. 

chapters,  that  I  have  had  recourse  to  Moliere's  recipe,  and  read 
my  manuscript  over  to  my  old  woman,  Janet  MacEvoy. 

The  dignity  of  being  consulted  delighted  Janet ;  and  Wilkie, 
or  Allan,  would  have  made  a  capital  sketch  of  her,  as  she  sat 
upright  in  her  chair,  instead  of  her  ordinary  lounging  posture, 
knitting  her  stocking  systematically,  as  if  she  meant  every  twist 
of  her  thread,  and  inclination  of  the  wires,  to  bear  burden  to 
the  cadence  of  my  voice.  I  am  afraid,  too,  that  I  myself  felt 
more  delight  than  I  ought  to  have  done  in  my  own  composition, 
and  read  a  little  more  oratorically  than  I  should  have  ventured 
to  do  before  an  auditor,  of  whose  applause  I  was  not  secure. 
And  the  result  did  not  entirely  encourage  my  plan  of  censor- 
ship. Janet  did  indeed  seriously  incline  to  the  account  of  my 
previous  life,  and  bestowed  some  Highland  maledictions  more 
emphatic  than  courteous  on  Christie  Steele's  reception  of  a 
"shentlemans  in  distress,"  and  of  her  own  mistress's  house,  too. 
I  omitted,  for  certain  reasons,  or  greatly  abridged,  what  related 
to  herself.  But  when  I  came  to  treat  of  my  general  views  in 
publication,  I  saw  poor  Janet  was  entirely  thrown  out,  though, 
like  a  jaded  hunter,  panting,  puffing,  and  short  of  wind,  she 
endeavored  at  least  to  keep  up  with  the  chase.  Or  rather  her 
perplexity  made  her  look  all  the  while  like  a  deaf  person 
ashamed  of  his  infirmity,  who  does  not  understand  a  word  you 
are  saying,  yet  desires  you  to  believe  that  he  does  understand 
you,  and  who  is  extremely  jealous  that  you  suspect  his  incapac- 
ity. When  she  saw  that  some  remark  was  necessary,  she  re- 
sembled exactly  in  her  criticism  the  devotee  who  pitched  on 
the  "  sweet  word  Mesopotamia,"  as  the  most  edifying  note 
which  she  could  bring  away  from  a  sermon.  She  indeed  hast- 
ened to  bestow  general  praise  on  what  she  said  was  all  "  very 
fine ; "  but  chiefly  dwelt  on  what  I  had  said  about  Mr.  Timmer- 
man,  as  she  was  pleased  to  call  the  German  philosopher,  and 
supposed  he  must  be  of  the  same  descent  with  the  Highland 
clan  of  M'Intyre,  which  signifies  Son  of  the  Carpenter.  "  And 
a  fery  honorable  name  too  —  Shanet's  own  mither  was  a 
M'Intyre." 

In  short,  it  was  plain  the  latter  part  of  my  introduction  was 
altogether  lost  on  poor  Janet,  and  so,  to  have  acted  up  to  Mo- 
liere's system,  I  should  have  canceled  the  whole,  and  written 
it  anew.  But  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  ;  I  retained,  I  suppose, 
some  tolerable  opinion  of  my  own  composition,  though  Janet 
did  not  comprehend  it,  and  felt  loath  to  retrench  those  delilahs 
of  the  imagination,  as  Dryden  calls  them,  the  tropes  and  figures 
of  which  are  caviar  to  the  multitude.  Besides,  I  hate  re-writing, 
as  much  as  Falstaif  did  paying  back — it  is  a  double  labor.     So 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


47 


I  determined  with  myself  to  consult  Janet,  in  future,  only  on 
such  things  as  were  within  the  limits  of  her  comprehension,  and 
hazard  my  arguments  and  my  rhetoric  on  the  public  without 
her  imprimatur.  I  am  pretty  sure  she  will  "  applaud  it  done." 
And  in  such  narratives  as  come  within  her  range  of  thought 
and  feeling,  I  shall,  as  I  first  intended,  take  the  benefit  of  her 
unsophisticated  judgment,  and  attend  to  it  deferentially — that 
is,  when  it  happens  not  to  be  in  peculiar  opposition  to  my  own; 
for,  after  all,  I  say,  with  Almanzor — 

Know  that  I  alone  am  king  of  me. 

The  reader  has  now  my  who  and  my  whereabout,  the  pur- 
pose of  the  work,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  it  is  un- 
dertaken. He  has  also  a  specimen  of  the  author's  talents,  and 
may  judge  for  himself,  and  proceed  or  send  back  the  volume 
to  the  bookseller,  as  his  own  taste  shall  determine. 


CHAPTER  SIXTH. 

MR.  CROFTANGRY's  ACCOUNT  OF   MRS.  BETHUNE  BALIOL. 
The  moon,  were  she  earthly,  no  nobler. 

CORIOLANUS. 

When  we  set  out  on  the  jolly  voyage  of  life,  what  a  brave 
fleet  there  is  around  us,  as  stretching  our  fresh  canvas  to  the 
breeze,  all  "  shipshape  and  Bristol  fashion,"  pennons  flying, 
music  playing,  cheering  each  other  as  we  pass,  we  are  rather 
amused  than  alarmed  when  some  awkward  comrade  goes  right 
ashore  for  want  of  pilotage  ! — Alas !  when  the  voyage  is  well 
spent,  and  we  look  about  us,  toil-worn  mariners,  how  few  of  our 
ancient  consorts  still  remain  in  sight,  and  they,  how  torn  and 
wasted,  and,  like  ourselves  struggling  to  keep  as  long  as  pos- 
sible off  the  fatal  shore,  against  which  we  are  all  finally  drifting ! 

I  felt  this  very  trite  but  melancholy  truth  in  all  its  force  the 
other  day,  when  a  packet  with  a  black  seal  arrived,  containing 
a  letter  addressed  to  me  by  my  late  excellent  friend  Mrs.  Mar- 
tha  Bethune  Baliol,  and  miarked  with  the  fatal  indorsation  "To 
be  delivered  according  to  address,  after  I  shall  be  no  more.'' 
A  letter  from  her  executors  accompanied  the  packet,  mention- 
ing that  they  had  found  in  her  will  a  bequest  to  me  of  a  paint- 
ing of  some  value,  which  she  stated  would  just  fit  the  space 


48  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 

above  my  cupboard,  and  fifty  guineas  to  buy  a  ring.  And  thus 
1  separated,  with  all  the  kindness  which  we  had  maintained  for 
many  years,  from  a  friend,  who,  though  old  enough  to  have 
been  the  companion  of  my  mother,  was  yet,  in  gayety  of 
spirits,  and  admirable  sweetness  of  temper,  capable  of  being 
agreeable,  and  even  animating  society,  for  those  who  write 
themselves  in  the  vaward  of  youth  ;  an  advantage  which  I  have 
lost  for  these  fivc-and-thirty  years.  The  contents  of  the  packet 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  guessing,  and  have  partly  hinted  at  them 
in  the  last  chapter.  But,  to  instruct  the  reader  in  the  partic- 
ulars, and  at  the  same  time  to  indulge  myself  with  recalling  the 
virtues  and  agreeable  qualities  of  my  late  friend,  I  will  give  a 
short  sketch  of  her  manners  and  habits. 

Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol  was  a  person  of  quality  and 
fortune,  as  these  are  esteemed  in  Scotland.  Her  family  was 
ancient,  and  her  connections  honorable.  She  was  not  fond  of 
specially  indicating  her  exact  age,  but  her  juvenile  recollec- 
tions stretched  backward  till  before  the  eventful  year  1745  ; 
and  she  remembered  the  Highland  clans  being  in  possession  of 
the  Scottish  capital,  though  probably  only  as  an  indistinct 
vision.  Her  fortune,  independent  by  her  father's  bequest  was 
rendered  opulent  by  the  death  of  more  than  one  brave  brother, 
who  fell  successively  in  the  service  of  their  country ;  so  that 
the  family  estates  became  vested  in  the  only  surviving  child  of 
the  ancient  house  of  Bethune  Baliol.  My  intimacy  was  formed 
with  the  excellent  lady  after  this  event,  and  when  she  was 
already  something  advanced  in  age. 

She  inhabited,  when  in  Edinburgh,  where  she  regularly 
spent  the  winter  season,  one  of  those  old  hotels,  which,  till  of 
late,  w-ere  to  be  found  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Canongate, 
and  of  the  Palace  of  Holyrood  House,  and  which,  separated 
from  the  street,  now  dirty  and  vulgar,  by  paved  courts,  and 
gardens  of  some  extent,  made  amends  for  an  indifferent  access 
by  showing  something  of  aristocratic  state  and  seclusion,  when 
you  were  once  admitted  within  their  precincts.  They  have 
pulled  her  house  down  ;  for,  indeed,  betwixt  .building  and  burn- 
ing, every  ancient  monument  of  the  Scottish  capital  is  now 
likely  to  be  utterly  demolished.  I  pause  on  the  recollections 
of  the  place,  however;  and  since  nature  has  denied  a  pencil 
when  she  placed  a  pen  in  my  hand,  I  will  endeavor  to  make 
words  answer  the  purpose  of  delineation. 

Baliol's  Lodging,  so  was  the  mansion  named,  reared  its  high 
Stack  of  chimneys,  among  which  were  seen  a  turret  or  two,  and 
one  of  those  small  projecting  ]~il:Uforins,  called  bartizans,  above 
the  mean  and  modern  buildings  which  line  the  south  side  of 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


49 


the  Canongate,  toward  the  lower  end  of  that  street,  and  not 
distant  from  the  Palace,  h.  parte  cochhr,  having  a  wicket  for 
foot-passengers,  was  upon  due  occasion,  unfolded  by  a  lame  old 
man,  tall,  grave,  and  thin,  who  tenanted  a  hovel  beside  the 
gate,  and  acted  as  porter.  To  this  office  he  had  been  promoted 
by  my  friend's  charitable  feelings  for  an  old  soldier,  and  partly 
by  an  idea,  that  his  head,  which  was  a  very  fine  one,  bore  some 
resemblance  to  that  of  Garrick  in  the  character  of  Lusignan. 
He  was  a  man  saturnine,  silent,  and  slow  in  his  proceedings, 
and  would  never  open  \.h.e.  parte  cockere  to  a  hackney  coach ; 
indicating  the  wicket  with  his  finger,  as  the  proper  passage  for 
all  who  came  in  that  obscure  vehicle,  which  was  not  permitted 
to  degrade  with  its  ticketed  presence  the  dignity  of  Baliol's 
Lodging.  I  do  not  think  this  peculiarity  would  have  met 
with  his  lady's  approbation,  any  more  than  the  occasional 
partiality  of  Lusignan,  or,  as  mortals  called  him,  Archy 
Macready,  to  a  dram.  But  Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol, 
conscious  that,  in  case  of  conviction,  she  could  never  have 
prevailed  upon  herself  to  dethrone  the  King  of  Palestine  from 
the  stone  bench  on  which  he  sat  for  hours  knitting  his  stocking, 
refused,  by  accrediting  the  intelligence,  even  to  put  him  upon 
his  trial  ;  well  judging  that  he  would  observe  more  wholesome 
caution  if  he  conceived  his  character  unsuspected,  than  if  he 
were  detected,  and  suffered  to  pass  unpunished.  For  after  all 
she  said,  it  would  be  cruel  to  dismiss  an  old  Highland  soldiei 
for  a  peccadillo  so  appropriate  to  his  country  and  profession. 

The  stately  gate  for  carriages,  or  the  humble  accommodation 
for  foot-passengers,  admitted  into  a  narrow  and  short  passage, 
running  between  two  rows  of  lime-trees,  whose  green  foliage 
during  the  spring,  contrasted  strangely  with  the  swart  com- 
plexion of  the  two  walls  by  the  side  of  which  they  grew.  This 
access  led  to  the  front  of  the  house,  which  was  formed  by  two 
gable  ends,  notched,  and  having  their  windows  adorned  with 
heavy  architectural  ornaments  ;  they  joined  each  other  at  right 
angles  ;  and  a  half  circular  tower,  which  contained  the  entrance 
and  the  staircase,  occupied  the  point  of  junction,  and  rounded 
the  acute  angle.  One  of  other  two  sides  of  the  little  court,  in 
which  there  was  just  sufficient  room  to  turn  a  carriage,  was 
occupied  by  some  low  buildings  answering  the  purpose  of 
offices  ;  the  other,  by  a  parapet  surrounded  by  a  highly-orna- 
mented iron  railing,  twined  round  with  honeysuckle  and  other 
parasitical  shrubs,  which  permitted  the  eye  to  peep  into  a  pretty 
suburban  garden,  extending  down  to  the  road  called  the  South 
Back  of  the  Canongate,  and  boasting  a  number  of  old  trees, 
many  flowers,  and  even  some  fruit.     We  must  not  forget  t* 


50 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


State,  that  the  extreme  cleanliness  of  the  courtyard  was  such 
as  intimated  that  mop  and  pail  had  done  their  utmost  in  that 
favored  spot,  to  atone  for  the  general  dirt  and  dinginess  of  the 
quarter  where  the  premises  were  situated. 

Over  the  doorway  were  the  arms  of  Bethune  and  Baliol,  with 
various  other  devices  carved  in  stone  ;  the  door  itself  was 
studded  with  iron  nails,  and  formed  of  black  oak  ;  an  iron 
rasp,*  as  it  was  called,  was  placed  on  it,  instead  of  a  knocker, 
for  the  purpose  of  summoning  the  attendants.  He  who  usually 
appeared  at  the  summons  was  a  smart  lad,  in  a  handsome 
livery,  the  son  of  Mrs.  Martha's  gardener  at  Mount  Baliol. 
Now  and  then  a  servant  girl,  nicely  but  plainly  dressed,  and 
fully  accoutred  with  stockings  and  shoes,  would  perform  this 
duty  ;  and  twice  or  thrice  I  remember  being  admitted  by 
Beauffet  himself,  whose  exterior  looked  as  much  like  that  of  a 
clergyman  of  rank  as  the  butler  of  a  gentleman's  family.  He 
had  been  valet-de-chambre  to  the  last  Sir  Richard  Bethune 
Baliol,  and  was  a  person  highly  trusted  by  the  present  lady.  A 
full  stand,  as  it  is  called  in  Scotland,  of  garments  of  a  dark 
color,  gold  buckles  in  his  shoes,  and  at  the  knees  of  his 
breeches,  with  his  hair  regularly  dressed  and  powdered,  an- 
nounced him  to  be  a  domestic  of  trust  and  importance.  His 
mistress  used  to  say  of  him, 

He's  sad  and  civil, 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes. 

As  no  one  can  escape  scandal,  some  said  that  Beauffet  made 
a  rather  better  thing  of  the  place  than  the  modesty  of  his  old- 
fashioned  wages  would,  unassisted,  have  amounted  to.  But  the 
man  was  always  very  civil  to  me.  He  had  been  long  in  the 
family  ;  had  enjoyed  legacies,  and  laid  by  a  something  of  his 
own,  upon  which  he  now  enjoys  ease  with  dignity,  in  as  far  as 
his  newly-married  wife,  Tibbie  Shortacrcs,  will  permit  him. 

The  Lodging — Dearest  reader,  if  you  are  tired,  pray  pass 
over  the  next  four  or  five  pages — was  not  by  any  means  so 
large  as  its  external  appearance  led  people  to  conjecture.  The 
interior  accommodation  was  much  cut  up  by  cross  walls  and 
long  passages,  and  that  neglect  of  economizing  space  which 
characterizes  old  Scottish  architecture.  But  there  was  far  more 
room  than  my  old  friend  required,  even  when  she  had,  as  was 
often  the  case,  four  or  five  young  cousins  under  her  protection  ; 
and  I  believe  much  of  the  house  was  unoccupied.  Mrs.  Bethune 
Baliol  never,  in  my  presence,  showed  herself  so  much  offended, 

*  Note  C.     Iron  rasp. 


CHRONICLES  OF  TffE  CANOXGATE. 


s» 


as  once  with  a  meddUng  person  who  advised  her  to  have  the 
windows  of  these  supernumerary  apartments  built  up,  to  save 
the  tax.  She  said  in  ire,  that,  while  she  lived,  the  light  of  God 
should  visit  the  house  of  her  fathers  ;  and  while  she  had  a  penny, 
king  and  country  should  have  their  due.  Indeed,  she  was 
punctiliously  loyal,  even  in  that  most  staggering  test  of  loyalty, 
the  payment  of  imports.  Mr.  Beauffet  told  me  he  was  ordered 
to  offer  a  glass  of  wine  to  the  person  who  collected  the  income- 
tax,  and  that  the  poor  man  was  so  overcome  by  a  reception 
so  unwontedly  generous,  that  he  had  well-nigh  fainted  on  the 
spot. 

You  entered  by  a  matted  anteroom   into  the  eating  parlor, 
filled  with  old-fashioned  furniture,  and    hung  with  family  por- 
traits, which,  excepting  one  of  Sir  Bernard  Bethune,  in  James 
the   Sixth's  time,  said  to  be  by  Jameson,   were    exceedingly 
frightful.     A  saloon,  as   it  was  called,  a  long  narrow  chamber, 
led  out  of  the  dining  parlor,  and  served  for  a  drawing-room. 
It  was  a  pleasant  apartment,  looking  out  upon  the  south  flank 
of  Holyrood  House,  the  gigantic  slope  of  Arthur  Seat,  and  the 
girdle  of  lofty  rocks  called  Salisbury  Crags  ;*  objects  so  rudely 
wild  that  the  mind  can  hardly  conceive   them  to   exist  in  the 
vicinage  of  a  populous  metropolis.     The  paintings  of  the  saloon 
came  from  abroad,  and    had  some  of  them    much  merit.     To 
see  the  best  of  them,  however,  you  must  be  admitted   into   the 
very  penetralia  of  the  temple,  and  allowed  to  draw  the  tapestry 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  saloon,  and  enter   Mrs.  Martha's  own 
special    dressing-room.     This  was   a  charming  apartment,    of 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  form,  it  had  so  many 
recesses,  which  were  filled  up  with  shelves  of  ebony,  and  cabi- 
nets of  japan   and  ^r ;//(?/?/ ;  some   for  holding  books,  of  which 
Mrs.  Martha  had  an  admirable   collection,  some  for  a  display 
of  ornamental   china,  others   for  shells  and   similar  curiosities. 
In  a  little  niche,  half  screened  by  a  curtain  of  crimson  silk,  was 
disposed  a  suit  of  tilting  armor  of  bright  steel,  inlaid  with  silver, 
which  had  been  worn  on   some   memorable   occasion  by   Sir 
Bernard   Bethune,  already   mentioned  ;  while   over  the  canopy 
Df  the  niche  hung  the    broadsword  with   which   her  father  had 
attempted  to  change  the  fortunes    of  Britain  in    17 15,  and   the 
spontoon  which  her  elder  brother  bore  when  he  was  leading  on 
a  company  of  the  Black  Watch  f  at  Fontenoy. 

*  The  Rev.  Mr.  Bowles  derives  the  name  of  these  crags,  as  of  the  EpJs* 
copal  city  in  the  west  of  England,  from  the  same  root ;  both,  in  his  opinion, 
which  he  very  ably  defends  and  illustrates,  having  been  the  sites  of  druid- 
ical  temples. 

t  The  well-known  original  designation  of    the  gallant  42d  Regiment. 


52 


CHROXICLES  OF  THE  CANOA'GATE. 


There  were  some  Italian  and  Flemish  pictures  of  admitted 
authenticity,  a  few  genuine  bronzes  and  other  objects  of  curios- 
ity, which  her  brothers  or  herself  had  picked  up  while  abroad. 
In  short,  it  was  a  place  where  the  idle  were  tempted  to  become 
studious,  the  studious  to  grow  idle — where  the  grave  might  find 
matter  to  make  them  gay,  and  the  gay  subjects  for  gravity. 

That  it  might  maintain  some  title  to  its  name,  I  must  not 
forget  to  say,  that  the  lady's  dressing-room  exhibited  a  superb 
mirror,  framed  in  silver  filigree  work  ;  a  beautiful  toilet,  the 
cover  of  which  was  of  Flanders  lace ;  and  a  set  of  boxes 
corresponding  in  materials  and  work  to  the  frame  of  the  mir- 
ror. 

This  dressing  apparatus,  however,  was  mere  matter  of  parade: 
Mrs.  Martha  Bethune  Baliol  always  went  through  the  actual 
duties  of  the  toilet  in  an  inner  apartment,  which  corresponded 
with  her  sleeping  room  by  a  small  detached  staircase.  There 
were,  I  believe,  more  than  one  of  those  turnpike  stairs,  as  they 
were  called,  about  the  house,  by  which  the  public  rooms,  all  of 
which  entered  from  each  other,  were  accommodated  with  sepa- 
rate and  independent  modes  of  access.  In  the  little  boudoir 
we  have  described,  Mrs.  Martha  Baliol  had  her  choicest  meet- 
ings. She  kept  early  hours  ;  and  if  )'ou  went  in  the  morning, 
you  must  not  reckon  that  space  of  day  as  extending  beyond 
three  o'clock,  or  four  at  the  utmost.  These  vigilant  habits 
were  attended  with  some  restraint  on  her  visitors,  but  they 
were  indemnified  by  your  always  finding  the  best  society,  and 
the  best  information,  which  was  to  be  had  for  the  day  in  the 
Scottish  capital.  Without  at  all  affecting  the  blue  stocking, 
she  liked  books — they  amused  her — and  if  the  authors  were 
persons  of  character,  she  thought  she  owed  them  a  debt  of 
civility,  which  she  loved  to  discharge  by  personal  kindness. 
When  she  gave  a  dinner  to  a  small  party,  which  she  did  now 
and  then,  she  had  the  good  nature  to  look  for,  and  the  good 
luck  to  discover,  what  sort  of  people  suited  each  other  best, 
and  chose  her  company  as  Duke  Theseus  did  his  hounds, 

matched  in  mouth  like  bells, 

Each  under  each,* 

SO  that  every  guest  could  take  his  part  in  the  cry ;  instead  of 
one    mighty  Tom  of  a  fellow,  like  Dr.  Johnson,  silencing  all 

Being  the  first  corps  raised  for  the  roval  service  in  the  Highlands,  and  al- 
lowed to  retain  their  national  garb,  thev  were  thus  named  from  the  con- 
trast which  their  dark  tartans  furnished  to  the  scarlet  and  white  of  the 
Other  regiments. 

*  3hakspearc's  Midsummer  Ni^hi's  Dream.  Act  IV.  Sc,  I, 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


53 


besides,  by  the  tremendous  depth  of  his  diapason.  On  such 
occasions  she  2&o\^^^  chere  exquise ;  ?LnA  every  now  and  then 
there  was  some  dish  of  French,  or  even  Scottish  derivation, 
which,  as  well  as  the  numerous  assortment  oivins  extraordinaire^ 
produced  by  Mr.  Beauffet,  gave  a  sort  of  antique  and  foreign  air 
to  the  entertainment,  which  rendered  it  more  interesting. 

It  was  a  great  thing  to  be  asked  to  such  parties  ;  and  not 
less  so  to  be  invited  to  the  early  eonversazione,  which,  in  spite 
of  fashion,  by  dint  of  the  best  coffee,  the  finest  tea,  and  chasse 
cqf/ thzt  would  have  called  the  dead  to  life,  she  contrived  now 
and  then  to  assemble  in  her  saloon  already  mentioned  at  the 
unnatural  hour  of  eight  in  the  evening.  At  such  times,  the 
cheerful  old  lady  seemed  to  enjoy  herself  so  much  in  the  happi- 
ness of  her  guests,  that  they  exerted  themselves,  in  turn,  to 
prolong  her  amusement  and  their  own  ;  and  a  certain  charm 
was  excited  around,  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  parties  of 
pleasure,  and  which  was  founded  on  the  general  desire  of 
every  one  present  to  contribute  something  to  the  common 
amusement. 

But,  although  it  was  a  great  privilege  to  be  admitted  to  wait 
on  my  excellent  friend  in  the  morning,  or  be  invited  to  her 
dinner  or  evening  parties,  I  prized  still  higher  the  right  which  I 
had  acquired,  by  old  acquaintance,  of  visiting  Baliol's  Lodging, 
upon  the  chance  of  finding  its  venerable  inhabitant  preparing 
for  tea,  just  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  It  was  only  to 
two  or  three  old  friends  that  she  permitted  this  freedom,  nor  was 
this  sort  of  chance  party  ever  allowed  to  extend  itself  beyond 
five  in  number.  The  answer  to  those  who  came  later,  announced 
that  the  company  was  filled  up  for  the  evening  ;  which  had  the 
double  effect,  of  making  those  who  waited  on  Mrs.  Bethune 
Baliol  in  this  unceremonious  manner  punctual  in  observing  her 
hour,  and  of  adding  the  zest  of  a  little  difficulty  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  party. 

It  more  frequently  happened  that  only  one  or  two  persons 
partook  of  this  refreshment  on  the  same  evening  ;  or,  supposing 
the  case  of  a  single  gentleman,  Mrs.  Martha,  though  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  admit  him  to  her  boudoir,  after  the  privilege  of 
the  French  and  the  old  Scottish  school,  took  care,  as  she  used 
to  say,  to  preserve  all  possible  propriety,  by  commanding  the 
attendance  of  her  principal  female  attendant,  Mrs.  Alice 
Lambskin,  who  might,  from  the  gravity  and  dignity  of  her 
appearance,  have  sufficed  to  matronize  a  whole  boarding  school, 
instead  of  one  maiden  lady  of  eighty  and  upward.  As  the 
weather  permitted,  Mrs.  Alice  sat  duly  remote  from  the  com- 
pany in  a./aufeui/  behind  the  projecting  chimney-piece,  or  in 


54 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CAXONGATR. 


the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and  prosecuted  in  Carthusian 
silence,  with  indefatigable  zeal,  a  piece  of  embroider}',  which 
seemed  no  bad  emblem  of  eternity. 

But  1  have  neglected  all  this  while  to  introduce  my  friend 
herself  to  the  reader,  at  least  so  far  as  words  can  convey  the 
peculiarities  by  which  her  appearance  and  conversation  were  dis- 
tinguished. 

A  little  woman,  with  ordinary  features,  and  an  ordinary  form, 
and  hair,  which  in  youth  had  no  decided  color,  we  may  believe 
Mrs.  jNIartha,  when  she  said  of  herself  that  she  was  never  remark- 
able for  personal  charms  ;  a  modest  admission,  which  was  readily 
confirmed  by  certain  old  ladies,  her  contemporaries,  who,  what- 
ever might  have  been  the  useful  advantages  which  they  more 
than  hinted  had  been  formerly  their  own  share,  were  now  in 
personal  appearance,  as  well  as  in  everything  else,  far  inferior  to 
my  accomplished  friend.  Mrs.  Martha's  features  had  been  of  a 
kind  which  might  be  said  to  wear  well  ;  their  irregularity  was 
now  of  little  consequence,  animated  as  they  were  by  the  vivacity 
of  her  conversation ;  her  teeth  were  excellent,  and  her  eyes,  al- 
though inclining  to  gray,  were  lively,  laughing,  and  undimmed 
by  time.  A  slight  shade  of  complexion,  more  brilliant  than  her 
years  promised,  subjected  my  friend,  amongst  strangers,  to  the 
suspicion  of  having  stretched  her  foreign  habits  as  far  as  the 
prudent  touch  of  the  rouge.  But  it  was  a  calumny  ;  for  when 
telling  or  listening  to  an  interesting  and  affecting  story,  I  have 
seen  her  color  come  and  go  as  if  it  played  on  the  cheek  of 
eighteen. 

Her  hair,  whatever  its  former  deficiencies,  was  now  the  most 
beautiful  white  that  time  could  bleach,  and  was  disposed  with 
some  degree  of  pretension,  though  in  the  simplest  manner  pos- 
sible, so  as  to  appear  neatly  smootlied  under  a  cap  of  Flanders 
lace,  of  an  old-fashioned,  but,  as  I  thought,  of  a  very  handsome 
form,  which  undoubtedly  has  a  name,  and  I  would  endeavor  to 
recur  to  it,  if  I  thought  it  would  make  my  description  a  bit  more 
intelligible.  I  think  I  have  heard  her  say  these  favorite  caps 
had  been  her  mother's,  and  had  come  in  fashion  with  a  peculiar 
kind  of  wig  used  by  the  gentleman  about  the  time  of  the  battle 
of  Raniillies.  The  rest  of  her  dress  was  always  rather  costly 
and  distinguished,  especially  in  the  evening.  A  silk  or  satin 
gown,  of  some  color  becoming  her  age,  and  of  a  form  which, 
though  complying  to  a  certain  degree  with  the  present  fashion, 
had  alvvavs  a  reference  to  some  more  distant  period,  was  gar- 
nished with  triple  ruffles;  her  shoes  had  diamond  buckles,  and 
were  raised  a  little  at  heel,  an  advantage  which,  possessed  in 
her  youth,  she  alleged  her  size  would  not  permit  her  to  forego 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


55 


in  her  old  age.  .S'c  always  wore  rings,  bracelets,  and  other 
ornaments  of  value,  either  for  the  materials  or  the  workman- 
ship ;  nay,  perhai^s  she  was  a  little  profuse  in  this  species  of 
display.  But  she  wore  them  as  subordinate  matters,  to  which 
the  habit  of  being  constantly  in  high  life  rendered  her  indiffer- 
ent. She  wore  them  because  her  rank  required  it ;  and  thought 
no  more  of  them  as  articles  of  finery,  than  a  gentleman  dressed 
for  dinner  thinks  of  his  clean  linen  and  well-brushed  coat, 
the  consciousness  of  which  embarrasses  the  rustic  beau  on  a 
Sunday. 

Now  and  then,  however,  if  a  gem  or  ornament  chanced  to 
be  noticed  for  its  beauty  or  singularity,  the  observation  usually 
led  the  way  to  an  entertaining  account  of  the  manner  i.i  which 
it  had  been  acquired,  or  the  person  from  whom  it  had  de- 
scended to  its  present  possessor.  On  such  and  similar  occa- 
sions my  old  friend  spoke  willingly,  which  is  not  uncommon ; 
but  she  also,  which  is  more  rare,  spoke  remarkably  well,  and 
had  in  her  little  narratives  concerning  foreign  parts,  or  former 
days,  which  formed  an  interesting  part  of  her  conversation,  the 
singular  art  of  dismissing  all  the  usual  protracted  tautology  re- 
specting time,  place,  and  circumstances,  which  is  apt  to  settle 
like  a  mist  upon  the  cold  and  languid  tales  of  age,  and  at  the 
same  time  of  bringing  forward,  dwelling  upon,  and  illustrating, 
those  incidents  and  characters  which  give  point  and  interest  to 
the  story. 

She  had,  as  we  have  hinted,  traveled  a  good  deal  in  foreign 
countries  :  for  a  brother,  to  whom  she  was  much  attached,  had 
been  sent  upon  various  missions  of  national  importance  to  the 
Continent,  and  she  had  more  than  once  embraced  the  oppor- 
tunity of  accompanying  hJm.  This  furnished  a  great  addition 
to  the  information  which  she  could  supply,  especially  during 
the  last  war,  when  the  Continent  was  for  so  many  years  her- 
metically sealed  against  the  English  nation.  But,  besides,  Mrs. 
Bethune  Baliol  visited  distant  countries,  not  in  the  modern 
fashion,  when  English  people  travel  in  carav-ans  together,  and 
see  in  France  and  Italy  little  besides  the  same  society  which 
they  might  have  enjoyed  at  home.  On  the  contrary,  she  min- 
gled, when  abroad,  with  the  natives  of  those  countries  she 
visited,  and  enjoyed  at  once  the  advantage  of  their  society,  and 
the  pleasure  of  comparing  it  with  that  of  Britain. 

In  the  course  of  her  becoming  habituated  with  foreign  man- 
ners, Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  had,  perhaps,  acquired  some  slight 
tincture  of  them  herself.  Yet  I  was  always  persuaded,  that  the 
peculiar  vivacity  of  look  and  manner — tlie  pointed  and  appro- 
priate action — with  which  she  accompanied  what  she  said — the 


1^6  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CAA'ONGATE. 

use  of  the  gold  and  gemmed  tahatiere,  or  rather  I  should  say 
bonbofuticre  (for  she  took  no  snufif,  and  the  little  box  contained 
only  a  few  pieces  of  candied  angelica,  or  some  such  lady-like 
sweetmeat),  were  of  real  old-fashioned  Scottish  growth,  and  such 
as  might  have  graced  the  tea-table  of  Susannah,  Countess  of  Eg- 
linton,*  the  patroness  of  Allan  Ramsay,  or  of  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Colonel  Ogilvy,  who  was  another  mirror  by  whom  the  maidens 
of  Auld  Reekie  were  required  to  dress  themselves.  Although 
well  acquainted  with  the  customs  of  other  countries,  her  man- 
ners had  been  chiefly  formed  in  her  own,  at  a  time  when  great 
folk  lived  within  little  space,  and  when  the  distinguished  name 
of  the  highest  society  gave  to  Edinburgh  the  c'clat^  which  we 
now  endeavor  to  derive  from  the  unbounded  expense  and  ex- 
tended circle  of  our  pleasures. 

I  was  more  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  by  the  peculiarity  of 
the  dialect  which  Mrs.  Baliol  used.  It  was  Scottish,  decidedly 
Scottish,  often  containing  phrases  and  words  little  used  in  the 
present  day.  But  then  her  tone  and  mode  of  pronunciation  were 
as  different  from  the  usual  accent  of  the  ordinary  Scotch /r/Zt'/j, 
as  the  accent  of  St.  James's  is  from  that  of  Billingsgate.  The 
vowels  were  not  pronounced  much  broader  than  in  the  Italian 
I'.anguage,  and  there  was  none  of  the  disagreeable  drawl  which 
is  so  offensive  to  southern  ears.  In  short  it  seemed  to  be  the 
Scottish  as  spoken  by  the  ancient  court  of  Scotland,  to  which 
no  idea  of  vulgarity  could  be  attached  ;  and  the  lively  manner 
and  gestures  with  which  it  was  accompanied,  were  so  completely 
in  accord  with  the  sound  of  the  voice  and  the  style  of  talking, 
that  I  cannot  assign  them  a  different  origin.  In  long  derivation, 
perhaps,  the  manners  of  the  Scottish  court  might  have  been  or- 
iginally formed  on  that  of  France,  to  which  it  had  certainly  some 
affinity  ;  but  I  will  live  and  die  in  the  belief  that  those  of  Mrs. 
Baliol,  as  pleasing  as  they  were  peculiar,  came  to  her  by  direct 
descent  from  the  high  dames  who  anciently  adorned  with  their 
presence  the  royal  halls  of  Holyrood. 

*  Susannah  Kennedy,  daughter  of  Sir  Archibald  Kennedy  of  Colyeen, 
Bart.,  by  Elizabeth  Lesly,  daughter  of  David  Lord  Newark,  third  wife  c\ 
Alexander  9th  Karl  of  Eglinton,  and  mother  of  the  loth  and  nth  Earls. 
She  survived  her  husband,  who  died  1729,  no  less  than  fifty-seven  years, 
and  died  March  1780,  in  her  91st  year.  Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd, 
published  1726,  is  dedicated  to  her,  in  verse,  by  Hamilton  of  Bangour. 

An  interesting  account  of  this  distinguished  lady  will  be  found  in  Bo» 
well's  Life  of  Johnson  by  Mr.  Croker. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  57 


CHAPTER  SEVENTH. 

MRS.  BALIOL  ASSISTS  CROFTANGRY  IN  HIS  LITERARY 

SPECULATIONS. 

Such  as  I  have  described  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol,  the  reader 
will  easily  believe  that  when  I  thought  of  the  miscellaneous 
nature  of  my  work,  I  rested  upon  the  information  she  possessed, 
and  her  communicative  disposition,  as  one  of  the  principal  sup- 
ports of  my  enterprise.  Indeed,  she  by  no  means  disapproved 
of  my  proposed  publication,  though  expressing  herself  very 
doubtful  how  far  she  could  personally  assist  it — a  doubt  which 
might  be  perhaps  set  down  to  a  little  lady-like  coquetry,  which 
required  to  be  sued  for  the  boon  she  was  not  unwilling  to  grant. 
Or,  perhaps,  the  good  old  lady,  conscious  that  her  unusual  term 
of  years  must  soon  draw  to  a  close,  preferred  bequeathing  the 
materials  in  the  shape  of  a  legacy,  to  subjecting  them  to  the 
judgment  of  a  critical  public  during  her  lifetime. 

Many  a  time  I  used,  in  our  conversations  of  the  Canongate, 
to  resume  my  request  of  assistance,  from  a  sense  that  my  friend 
was  the  most  valuable  depositary  of  Scottish  traditions  that 
was  probably  now  to  be  found.  This  was  a  subject  on  which 
my  mind  was  so  much  made  up,  that  when  I  heard  her  carry 
her  description  of  manners  so  far  back  beyond  her  own  time, 
and  describe  how  Fletcher  of  Salton  spoke,  how  Graham  of 
Claverhouse  danced,  what  were  the  jewels  worn  by  the  famous 
Duchess  of  Lauderdale,  and  how  she  came  by  them,  I  could 
not  help  telling  her  I  thought  her  some  fairy,  who  cheated  us 
by  retaining  the  appearance  of  a  mortal  of  our  own  day,  when, 
in  fact,  she  had  witnessed  the  revolutions  of  centuries.  She 
was  much  diverted  when  I  required  her  to  take  some  solemn 
oath  that  she  had  not  danced  at  the  balls  given  by  Mary  of 
Este,  when  her  unhappy  husband  *  occupied  Holyrood  in  a 
species  of  honorable  banishment  ; — or  asked,  whether  she  could 
not  recollect  Charles  the  Second,  when  he  came  to  Scotland  in 
1650,  and  did  not  possess  somt  slight  recollections  of  the  bold 
usurper  who  drove  him  beyond  the  Forth. 

*  The  Duke  of  York,  afterward  James  II.,  frequently  resided  in  Holy- 
rood  House,  when  his  religion  rendered  him  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the 
English  Parliament. 


5$  CimOAVCLES   OF  THE   CANOHGATB. 

^^Beau  cousi?i,''  she  said,  laughing,  "  none  of  these  do  1 
remember  personally ;  but  you  must  know  there  has  been 
wonderfully  little  change  on  my  natural  temper  from  youth  to 
age.  From  which  it  follows,  cousin,  that  being  even  now  some 
thing  too  young  in  spirit  for  the  years  which  Time  has  marked 
me  in  his  calendar,  I  was,  when  a  girl,  a  little  too  old  for  those 
of  my  own  standing,  and  as  much  inclined  at  that  period  to 
keep  the  society  of  elder  persons,  as  I  am  now  disposed  to 
admit  the  company  of  gay  young  fellows  of  fifty  or  sixty  like 
yourself,  rather  than  collect  about  me  all  the  octogenarians. 
Now,  although  I  do  not  actually  come  from  Elfland,  and  there- 
fore cannot  boast  any  personal  knowledge  of  the  great  person- 
ages you  inquire  about,  yet  I  have  seen  and  heard  those  who 
knew  them  well,  and  who  have  given  me  as  distinct  an  account 
of  them  as  I  could  give  you  myself  of  the  Empress  Queen,  or 
Frederic  of  Prussia  ;  and  I  will  frankly  add,"  said  she,  laugh- 
ing and  offering  her /'(w/^w/z/wr,  "  that ///<?7r  heard  so  much 
of  the  years  which  immediately  succeeded  the  Revolution,  that 
I  sometimes  am  apt  to  confuse  the  vivid  descriptions  fixed  on 
my  memory  by  the  frequent  and  animated  recitation  of  others, 
for  things  which  I  myself  have  actually  witnessed.     I  caught 

myself  but  yesterday  describing  to  Lord  M the  riding  ot 

the  last  Scottish  Parliament,  with  as  much  minuteness  as  if  I 
had  seen  it,  as  ray  mother  did,  from  the  balcony  in  front  of 
Lord  Moray's  Lodging  in  the  Canongate." 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  have  given  Lord  M a  high  treat." 

"  I  treated  him  with  a  hearty  laugh,  I  believe,"  she  replied ; 
"but  it  is  you,  you  vile  seducer  of  youth,  who  lead  me  into  such 
follies.  But  I  will  be  on  my  guard  against  my  own  weakness. 
I  do  not  well  know  if  the  wandering  Jew  is  supposed  to  have  a 
wife,  but  I  should  be  sorry  a  decent  middle-aged  Scottish 
gentlewoman  should  be  suspected  of  identity  with  such  a  super- 
natural person." 

"  For  all  that,  I  must  torture  you  a  little  more,  fna  belle 
cousine,  with  my  interrogatories  ;  for  how  shall  I  ever  turn 
author  unless  on  the  strength  of  the  information  w'hich  you 
have  so  often  procured  me  on  the  ancient  state  of  manners  .-• " 

"  Stay,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  give  your  points  of  inquiry  a 
name  so  very  venerable,  if  I  am  expected  to  answer  them. 
Ancient  is  a  term  for  antediluvians.  You  may  catechize  me 
about  the  battle  of  Flodden,  or  ask  particulars  about  Bruce  and 
Wallace,  under  pretext  of  curiosity  after  ancient  manners ;  and 
that  last  subject  would  wake  my  Baliol  blood,  you  know." 

Well.  but.  Mrs.  Baliol,  suppose  we  settle  our  era: — you  do 


cnnomcLES  of  the  canon-gate. 


5^ 


not  call  the  accession  of  James  the  Sixth  to  the  kingdom  of 
Britain  very  ancient  ?  " 

"  Umph  !  no  cousin — I  think  I  could  tell  you  more  of  that 
than  folk  no\v-a-days  remember, — for  instance,  that  as  James 
was  trooping  toward  England,  bag  and  baggage,  his  journey 
was  stopped  near  Cockenzie  by  meeting  the  funeral  of  the  Earl 
of  Winton,  the  old  and  faithful  servant  and  follower  of  his  ill- 
fated  mother,  poor  Mary.  It  was  an  ill  omen  for  the  infafe 
and  so  was  seen  of  it,  cousin."  * 

I  did  not  choose  to  prosecute  this  subject,  well  knowing 
Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol  did  not  like  to  be  much  pressed  on  the 
subject  of  the  Stuarts,  whose  misfortunes  she  pitied,  the  rather 
that  her  father  had  espoused  their  cause.  And  yet  her  attach- 
ment to  the  present  dynasty  being  very  sincere,  and  even 
ardent,  more  especially  as  her  family  had  served  his  late 
Majesty  both  in  peace  and  war,  she  experienced  a  little  embar- 
rassment in  reconciling  her  opinions  respecting  the  exiled 
family,  with  those  she  entertained  for  the  present.  In  fact,  like 
many  an  old  Jacobite,  she  was  contented  to  be  somewhat  in- 
consistent on  the  subject,  comforting  herself,  that  now  every- 
thing stood  as  it  ought  to  do,  and  that  there  was  no  use  in 
looking  back  narrowly  on  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  matter  half- 
a-century  ago. 

"The  Highlands,"  I  suggested,  "should  furnish  you  with 
ample  subjects  of  recollection.  You  have  witnessed  the  com- 
plete change  of  that  primeval  country,  and  have  seen  a  race 
not  far  removed  from  the  earliest  period  of  society,  melted 
down  into  the  great  mass  of  civilization  ;  and  that  could  not 
happen  without  incidents  striking  in  themselves,  and  curious  as 
chapters  in  the  history  of  the  human  race." 

"  It  is  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Baliol ;  "  one  would  think  it 
should  have  struck  the  observers  greatly,  and  yet  it  scarcely 
did  so.  For  me,  I  was  no  Highlander  myself,  and  the  High- 
land chiefs  of  old,  of  whom  I  certainly  knew  several,  had  little 
in  their  manners  to  distinguish  them  from  the  Lowland  gentry, 
when  they  mixed  in  society  in  Edinburgh,  and  assumed  the 
Lowland  dress.  Their  peculiar  character  was  for  the  clansmeri 
at  home  ;  and  you  must  not  imagine  that  they  swaggered  about 
in  plaids  and  broadswords  at  the  Cross,  or  came  to  the  Assemr 
bly  Rooms  in  bonnets  and  kilts." 

"  I  remember,"  said  I,  "  that  Swift,  in  his  journal,  tells 
Stella  he  had  dined  in  the  house  of  a  Scots  nobleman,  with  two 

♦  Note  D.     Earl  of  Winton. 


6o  CHROmCLES  OF  THE  CAKONGATE. 

Highland  chiefs,  whom  he  had  found  as  well-bred  men  as  he 
had  ever  met  with."* 

"Very  likely,"  said  my  friend.  "The  extremes  of  society 
approach  much  more  closely  to  each  other  than  perhaps  the 
Dean  of  Saint  Patrick's  expected.  The  savage  is  always  to  a 
certain  degree  polite.  Besides,  going  always  armed,  and  hav- 
ing a  very  punctilious  idea  of  their  own  gentility  and  conse- 
quence, they  usually  behaved  to  each  other  and  to  the  Low- 
landers,  with  a  good  deal  of  formal  politeness,  which  some- 
times even  procured  them  the  character  of  insincerity." 

"  Falsehood  belongs  to  an  early  period  of  society,  as  well  as 
the  differential  forms  which  we  style  politeness,"  I  replied. 
"A  child  does  not  see  the  least  moral  beauty  in  truth,  until  he 
has  been  flogged  half-a-dozen  times.  It  is  so  easy,  and  appa- 
rently so  natural,  to  deny  what  you  cannot  be  easily  convicted 
of,  that  a  savage  as  w-ell  as  a  child  lies  to  excuse  himself, 
almost  as  instinctively  as  he  raises  his  hand  to  protect  his 
head.  The  old  saying,  '  confess  and  be  hanged,'  carries  much 
argument  in  it.  I  observed  a  remark  the  other  day  in  old 
Birrell.  He  mentions  that  M'Gregor  of  Glenstrae  and  some  of 
his  people  had  surrendered  themselves  to  one  of  the  Earls  of 
Argyle,  upon  the  express  condition  that  they  should  be  conve}ed 
safe  into  England.  The  MacAllum  More  of  the  day  kept  the 
word  of  promise,  but  it  was  only  to  the  ear.  He  indeed  sent 
his  captives  to  Berwick,  where  they  had  an  airing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Tweed,  but  it  was  under  the  custody  of  a  strong 
guard,  by  whom  they  were  brought  back  to  Edinburgh,  and 
delivered  to  the  executioner.  This,  Birrell  calls  keeping  a 
Highlandman's  promise."  f 

"Well,"  replied  Mrs.  Baliol,  "I  might  add,  that  many  of  the 
Highland  chiefs  whom  I  know  in  former  days  had  been  brought 
up  in  France,  which  might  improve  their  politeness,  though 
perhaps  it  did  not  amend  their  sincerity.  But  considering,  that, 
belonging  to  the  depressed  and  defeated  faction  in  the  state, 
they  were  compelled  sometimes  to  use  dissimulation,  you  must 
set  their  uniform  fidelity  to  their  friends  against  their  occasional 
falsehood  to  their  enemies,  and  then  you  will  not  judge  poor 
John  Highlandman  too  severely.  They  were  in  a  state  of 
society  where  bright  lights  are  stronglv  contrasted  with  deep 
shadows." 

"  It  is  to  that  Doint  I  would  bring  you,   via  belle  cousine, — 

•Extract  of  Journal  to  Stella. — "I  dined  to-day  (12th  March 
1712)  with  Lord  Treasurer  and  two  gentlemen  of  the  Highlands  of  Scotland, 
yet  very  polite  men." — Swift's  IVorks,  vol.  iii.  p.  7.     Edin.  1824. 

t  Note  E.     M'Gregor  of  Glenstrae. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE.  6l 

and  therefore  they  are  most  proper  subjects  for  composi- 
tion." 

"  And  you  want  to  turn  composer,  my  good  friend,  and  set 
my  old  tales  to  some  popular  tune  ?  But  there  have  been  too 
many  composers,  if  that  be  the  word,  in  the  field  before.  The 
Highlands  ivere  indeed  a  rich  mine  ;  but  they  have,  I  think, 
been  fairly  wrought  out,  as  a  good  tune  is  grinded  into  vul- 
garity when  it  descends  to  the  hurdy-gurdy  and  the  barrel- 
organ." 

"  If  it  be  really  tune,"  I  replied,  "  it  will  recover  its  better 
qualities  when  it  gets  into  the  hands  of  better  artists." 

"  Umph  !  "  said  Mrs.  Baliol,  tapping  her  box,  "  we  are  happy 
in  our  own  good  opinion  this  evening,  ]\Ir.  Croftangry.  And 
so  you  think  you  can  restore  the  gloss  to  the  tartan,  which  it 
has  lost  by  being  dragged  through  so  many  fingers  ? " 

"  With  your  assistance  to  procure  materials,  my  dear  lady, 
much,  I  think,  may  be  done," 

*'  Well — -I  must  do  my  best,  I  suppose  ;  though  all  I  know 
about  the  Gael  is  but  of  little  consequence — indeed,  I  gathered 
it  chiefly  from  Donald  MacLeish." 

"  And  who  might  Donald  MacLeish  be  ?  " 

"  Neither  bard  nor  sennachie,  I  assure  you  ;  nor  monk,  nor 
hermit,  the  approved  authorities  for  old  traditions.  Donald 
was  as  good  a  postilion  as  ever  drove  a  chaise  and  pair  between 
Glencroe  and  Inverary.  I  assure  you,  when  I  give  you  my 
Highland  anecdotes,  you  will  hear  much  of  Donald  MacLeish. 
He  was  Alice  Lambskin's  beau  and  mine  through  a  long  High- 
land tour." 

"  But  when  am  I  to  possess  these  anecdotes  ? — You  answer 
me  as  Harley  did  poor  Prior — 

Let  tliat  l)e  done  which  Mat  doth  say. 
*  Yea,'  quoth  the  Earl,  '  but  not  to-day.'  " 

"  Well,  mon  beau  cousin,  if  you  begin  to  remind  me  of  my 
cruelty,  I  must  remind  you  it  has  struck  nine  on  the  Abbey 
clock,  and  it  is  time  you  were  going  home  to  Little  Croft, 
angry. — For  my  ]')romise  to  assist  your  antiquarian  researches, 
be  assured,  I  will  one  day  keep  it  to  the  utmost  extent.  It 
shall  not  be  a  Highlandman's  promise,  as  your  old  citizen  calls 
it." 

I,  by  this  time,  suspected  the  purpose  of  my  friend's  procras- 
tination ;  and  it  saddened  my  heart  to  reflect  that  I  was  not  to 
get  the  information  which  I  desired,  excepting  in  the  shape  of 
a  legacy.     I  found,  accordingly,  in  the  packet  transmitted  to 


62  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CAXOXGA  TE. 

me  after  the  excellent  lady's  death,  several  anecdotes  respect- 
ing the  Highlands,  from  which  I  have  selected  that  which 
follows,  chiefly  on  account  of  its  possessing  great  power  over  the 
feelings  of  my  critical  housekeeper,  Janet  MacEvoy,  who  wept 
most  bitterly  when  I  read  it  to  her. 

It  is,  however,  but  a  very  simple  tale,  and  may  have  no 
interest  for  persons  beyond  Janet's  rank  of  life  or  understand- 
ing. 


THE    HIGHLAND   WIDOW 


CHAPTER  FIRST. 

It  wound  as  near  as  near  could  be, 

But  what  it  is  she  cannot  tell  ; 

On  the  other  side  it  seem'd  to  be, 

Of  the  huge  broad-breasted  old  oak-  tree. 

Coleridge. 

Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol's  Memorandum  begins  thus  : — 

It  is  five-and-thirty,  or  perhaps  nearer  forty  years  ago,  since, 
to  relieve  the  dejection  of  spirits  occasioned  by  a  great  family 
loss  sustained  two  or  three  months  before,  I  vindertook  what 
was  called  the  short  Highland  tour.  This  had  become  in  seme 
degree  fashionable  ;  but  though  the  military  roads  were  excel- 
lent, yet  the  accommodation  was  so  indifferent,  that  it  was  reck- 
oned a  little  adventure  to  accomplish  it.  Tesides,  the  High- 
lands, though  now  as  peaceable  as  any  part  of  King  George's 
dominions,  was  a  sound  which  still  carried  terror,  while  so 
many  survived  who  had  witnessed  the  insurrection  of  1745  ; 
and  a  vague  idea  of  fear  was  impressed  on  many,  as  they  looked 
from  the  towers  of  Stirling  northward  to  the  huge  chain  of 
mountains,  which  rises  like  a  dusky  rampart  to  conceal  in  its 
recesses  a  people,  whose  dress,  manners,  and  language,  diffeied 
still  very  much  from  those  of  their  Lowland  countrymen.  For 
my  part,  I  come  of  a  race  not  greatly  subject  to  apprehensions 
arising  from  imagination  only.  I  had  some  Highland  relatives, 
knew  several  of  their  families  of  distinction  ;  and,  though  only 
having  the  company  of  my  bower-maiden,  Mrs.  Alice  Lambskin, 
I  went  on  my  journey  fearless. 

But  then  I  had  a  guide  and  cicerone,  almost  equal  to  Great- 
heart  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  in  no  less  a  person  than  Donald 
MacLeish,  the  postilion  whom  I  hired  at   Stirling,  with  a   paii 


64  THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 

of  able-bodied  horses,  as  steady  as  Donald  himself,  to  drag  my 
carriage,  my  duenna,  and  myself,  wheresoever  it  was  my  pleas- 
ure to  go. 

Donald  MacLeish  was  one  of  a  race  of  post-boys,  whom,  I 
suppose,  mail-coaches  and  steamboats  have  put  out  of  fashion. 
They  were  to  be  found  chiefly  at  Perth,  Stirling,  or  Glasgow, 
where  they  and  their  horses  were  usually  hired  by  travelers, 
or  tourists,  to  accomplish  such  journeys  of  business  or  pleasure 
as  they  might  have  to  perform  in  the  land  of  the  Gael.  This 
class  of  persons  approached  to  the  character  of  what  is  called 
abroad  a  condiicteur ;  or  might  be  compared  to  the  sailing-master 
on  board  a  British  ship  of  war,  who  follows  out  after  his  own 
manner  the  course  which  the  captain  commands  him  to  observe. 
You  explained  to  your  postilion  the  length  of  your  tour,  and 
the  objects  you  were  desirous  it  should  embrace  ;  and  you  found 
him  perfectly  competent  to  fix  the  places  of  rest  or  refreshment, 
with  due  attention  that  those  should  be  chosen  with  reference 
to  your  convenience,  and  to  any  points  of  interest  which  you 
might  desire  to  visit. 

The  qualifications  of  such  a  person  were  necessarily  much 
superior  to  those  of  the  "first  ready,"  who  gallops  thrice  a-day 
over  the  same  ten  miles.  Donald  MacLeish,  besides  being  quite 
alert  at  repairing  all  ordinary  accidents  to  his  horse  and  carriage, 
and  in  making  shift  to  support  them,  where  forage  was  scarce, 
with  such  substitutes  as  bannocks  and  cakes,  was  likewise  a 
man  of  intellectual  resources.  He  had  acquired  a  general 
knowledge  of  the  traditional  stories  of  the  country  which  he 
had  traversed  so  often;  and,  if  encouraged  (for  Donald  was  a 
man  of  the  most  decorous  reserve),  he  would  willingly  point 
out  to  you  the  site  of  the  principal  clan-battles,  and  recount  the 
most  remarkable  legends  by  which  the  road,  and  the  objects 
which  occurred  in  traveling  it,  had  been  distinguished.  There 
was  some  originality  in  the  man's  habits  of  thinking  and  express 
ing  himself,  his  turn  for  legendary  lore  strangly  contrasting 
with  a  portion  of  the  knowing  shrewdness  belonging  to  his 
actual  occupation,  which  made  his  conversation  amuse  the  way 
well  enough. 

Add  to  this,  Donald  knew  all  his  peculiar  duties  in  the  countrj;' 
which  he  traversed  so  frequently.  He  could  tell,  to  a  day,  when 
they  would  "  be  killing  "  lamb  at  Tyndrum  or  Glenuilt ;  so  that 
the  stranger  would  have  some  chance  of  being  fed  like  a  Chrisi 
tian  ;  and  knew  to  a  mile  the  last  village  where  it  was  possible  to 
procure  a  wheatcn  loaf,  for  the  guidance  of  those  who  were  little 
familiar  with  the  Tand  of  Cakes.  He  was  acquainted  with  the 
road  every  mile,  and  could  tell  to  an  inch  which  side  of  a  High- 


THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW.  65 

land  bridge  was  passable,  which  decidedly  dangerous.*  In  short, 
Donald  MacLeish  was  not  only  our  faithful  attendant  and  steady 
servant,  but  our  humble  and  obliging  friend  ;  and  though  I  have 
known  the  half-classical  cicerone  of  Italy,  the  talkative  French 
valet-de-place,  and  even  the  muleteer  of  Spain,  who  piques 
himself  on  being  a  maize-eater,  and  whose  honor  is  not  to  be 
questioned  without  danger,  I  do  not  think  I  ever  had  so  sensible 
and  intelligent  a  guide. 

Our  motions  were  of  course  under  Donald's  direction  ;  and 
it  frequently  happened,  when  the  weather  was  serene,  that  we 
preferred  halting  to  rest  his  horses  even  where  there  was  no 
established  stage,  and  taking  our  refreshment  under  a  crag, 
from  which  leaped  a  waterfall,  or  beside  the  verge  of  a  fountain 
enameled  with  verdant  turf  and  wild-flowers.  Donald  had  an 
eye  for  such  spots,  and  though  he  had.  I  dare  say,  never  read 
Gil  Bias  or  Don  Quixote,  yet  he  chose  such  halting-places  as 
Le  Sage  or  Cervantes  would  have  described.  Very  often,  as  he 
observed  the  pleasure  I  took  in  conversing  with  the  country 
people,  he  would  manage  to  fix  our  place  of  rest  near  a  cottage 
where  there  was  some  old  Gael,  whose  broadsword  had  blazed 
at  Falkirk  or  Preston,  and  who  seemed  the  frail  yet  faithful 
record  of  times  which  had  passed  away.  Or  he  would  contrive 
to  quarter  us,  as  far  as  a  cup  of  tea  went,  upon  the  hospitality  of 
some  parish  minister  of  worth  and  intelligence,  or  some  country 
family  of  the  better  class,  who  mingled  with  the  wild  simplicity 
of  their  original  manners,  and  their  ready  and  hospitable  welcome, 
a  sort  of  courtesy  belonging  to  a  people,  the  lowest  of  whom  are 
accustomed  to  consider  themselves  as  being,  according  to  the 
Spanish  phrase,  "  as  good  gentlemen  as  the  king,  only  not  quite 
so  rich." 

To  all  such  persons  Donald  MacLeish  was  well  known,  and 
his  introduction  passed  as  current  as  if  we  had  brought  letters 
from  some  high  chief  of  the  country. 

Sometimes  it  happened  that  the  Highland  hospitality  which 
welcomed  us  with  all  the  variety  of  mountain  fare,  preparations 
of  milk  and  eggs,  and  gridle-cakes  of  various  kinds,  as  well  as 
more  substantial  dainties,  according  to  the  inhabitant's  means 
of  regaling  the  passenger,  descended  rather  too  exuberantly  on 
Donald  MacLeish  in  the  shape  of  mountain  dew.  Poor  Donald  ) 
he  was  on  such  occasions,  like  Gideon's  fleece,  moist  with  the 
noble  element,  which,  of  course,  fell  not  on  us.     But  it  was  his 

*  This  is,  or  was  at  least,  a  necessary  accomplishment.  In  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  districts  of  the  Highlands  was,  not  many  years  since,  a 
bridge  bearing  this  startling  caution,  "  Keep  to  tlic  right  side,  the  left  bci 
ing  dangerous." 


66  THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 

only  fault,  and  when  pressed  to  drink  doch-an-dorroch  to  my 
ladyship's  good  health,  it  would  have  been  ill  taken  to  have 
refused  the  pledge,  nor  was  he  willing  to  do  such  discourtesy. 
It  was,  I  repeat,  his  only  fault,  nor  had  we  any  great  right  to 
complain ;  for  if  it  rendered  him  a  liitle  more  talkative,  it 
augmented  his  ordinary  share  of  punciilious  civility,  and  he 
only  drove  slower,  and  tallied  longer  and  more  pompously  than 
when  he  had  not  come  by  a  drop  of  usquebaugh.  It  was,  we 
remarked,  only  on  such  occasions  that  Donald  talked  with  an 
air  of  importance  of  the  family  of  MacLeish  ;  and  w^e  had  no 
title  to  be  scrupulous  in  censuring  a  foible,  the  consequences  of 
which  were  confined  within  such  innocent  limits. 

We  became  so  much  accustomed  to  Donald's  mode  of  manag- 
ing us,  that  we  observed  with  some  interest  the  art  which  he 
used  to  produce  a  little  agreeable  surprise,  by  concealing  from 
us  the  spot  where  he  proposed  our  halt  to  be  made,  when  it  was 
of  an  unusual  and  interesting  character.  This  was  so  much  his 
wont,  that  when  he  made  apologies  at  setting  off,  for  being 
obliged  to  slop  in  some  strange  solitary  place,  till  the  horses 
should  eat  the  corn  which  he  brought  on  with  them  for  that 
purpose,  our  imagination  used  to  be  on  the  stretch  to  guess  what 
romantic  retreat  he  had  secretly  fixed  upon  for  our  noontide 
baiting-place. 

We  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  morning  at  the  delight- 
ful village  of  Dalmally,  and  had  gone  upon  the  lake  under  the 
guidance  of  the  excellent  clergyman  who  was  then  incumbent  at 
Glenorquhy,*  and  had  heard  a  hundred  legends  of  the  stern  chiefs 
of  Loch  Awe,  Duncan  with  the  thrum  bonnet,  and  the  other 
lords  of  the  now  mouldering  towers  of  Kilchurn.f  Thus  it  was 
later  than  usual  when  we  set  out  on  our  journey,  after  a  hint  or 
two  from  Donald  concerning  the  length  of  the  way  to  the  next 
stage,  as  there  was  no  good  halting-place  between  Dalmally 
and  Oban. 

Having  bid  adieu  to  our  venerable  and  kind  cicerone,  we 
proceeded  on  our  tour,  winding  round  the  tremendous  moun- 
tain called  Cruachan  Ben,  which  rushes  down  in  all  its  majesty 
of  rocks  and  wilderness  on  the  lake,  leaving  only  a  pass,  in 
which,  notwithstanding  its  extreme  strength,  the  warlike  clan 
of  IvIacDougal  of  Lorn  were  almost  destroyed  by  the  sagacious 
Robert  Bruce.  That  King,  the  Wellington  of  his  day,  had 
accomplished,  by  a  forced  march,  the  unexpected  manoeuvre  of 

*  This  venerable  and  hospitable  gentleman's  name  was  Maclntyre. 
»  An  admirable  account   of   Loch  Awe  will   be  found  in  the  Notes  to  th£ 
Bridal  of  Caolchairn. 


THE  HIGIILAN-D    IVTDOW.  6^ 

forcing  a  body  of  troops  round  the  other  side  of  the  mountain, 
and  thus  placed  him  in  the  flank  and  in  the  rear  of  the  men  of 
Lorn,  whom  at  the  same  time  he  attacked  in  front.  The  great 
number  of  cairns  yet  visible,  as  you  descend  the  pass  on  the 
westward  side,  shows  the  extent  of  the  vengeance  which  Bruce 
exhausted  on  his  inveterate  and  personal  enemies.  I  am,  you 
know,  the  sister  of  soldiers,  and  it  has  since  struck  me  forcibly 
that  the  manoeuvre  which  Donald  described,  resembled  those 
of  Wellington  or  of  Bonaparte.  He  was  a  great  man  Robert 
Bruce,  even  a  Baiiol  must  admit  that ;  although  it  begins  now 
to  be  allowed  that  his  title  to  the  crown  was  scarce  so  good  as 
that  of  the  unfortunate  family  with  whom  he  contended — But 
let  that  pass. — The  slaughter  had  been  the  greater,  as  the  deep 
and  rapid  river  Awe  is  disgorged  from  the  lake,  just  in  the  rear 
of  the  fugitives,  and  encircles  the  base  of  the  tremendous 
mountain  ;  so  that  the  retreat  of  the  unfortunate  flyers  was  in- 
tercepted on  all  sides  by  the  inaccessible  character  of  the 
country,  which  had  seemed  to  promise  them  defence  and  pro- 
tection.* 

Musing,  like  the  Irish  lady  in  the  song,  "  upon  things  which 
are  long  enough  a-gone,"  f  we  felt  no  impatience  at  the  slow, 
and  almost  creeping  pace,  with  which  our  conductor  proceeded 
along  General  Wade's  military  road,  which  never  or  rarely 
condescends  to  turn  aside  from  the  steepest  ascent,  but  pro- 
ceeds right  up  and  down  hill,  with  the  indifference  to  height 
and  hollow,  steep  or  level,  indicated  by  the  old  Roman  en- 
gineers. Still,  however,  the  substantial  excellence  of  these 
great  works — for  such  are  the  military  highways  in  the  High- 
lands— deserved  the  compliment  of  the  poet,  who,  whether  he 
came  from  our  sister  kingdom,  and  spoke  in  his  own  dialect,  or 
whether  he  supposed  those  whom  he  addressed  might  have 
some  national  pretension  to  the  second  sight,  produced  the 
celebrated  couplet — 

Had  you  but  seen  these  roads  before  they  were  made, 
You  would  hold  up  your  hands,  and  bless  (ieneral  Wade. 

Nothing  indeed  can  be  more  wonderful  than  to  see  these  wil- 
dernesses penetrated  and  pervious  in  every  quarter  by  broad 
accesses  of  the  best  possible  construction,  and  so  superior  to 
what  the  country  could  have  demanded  for  many  centuries  for 

*   Vide  Tytler's  Life  of  Bruce. 

t  This  is  a  line  from  a  very  pathetic  ballad  which  I  heard  sung  by  one 
of  the  young  ladies  of  Edgeworthstown  in  1825.  I  do  not  know  that  it  has 
been  printed. 


58  THE  HIGIILAND    WIDOW. 

any  pacific  purpose  of  commercial  intercourse.  Thus  the  traces 
of  war  are  sometimes  happily  accommodated  to  the  purposes 
of  peace.  The  victories  of  Bonaparte  have  been  without 
results  ;  but  his  road  over  the  Simplon  will  long  be  the  com- 
munication betwixt  peaceful  countries,  who  will  apply  to  the 
ends  of  commerce  and  friendly  intercourse  that  gigantic  work, 
which  was  formed  for  the  ambitious  purpose  of  warlike  in- 
vasion. 

While  we  were  thus  stealing  along,  we  gradually  turned 
round  the  shoulder  of  Ben  Cruachan,  and,  descending  the 
course  of  the  foaming  and  rapid  Awe,  left  behind  us  the  ex- 
panse of  the  majestic  lake  which  gives  birth  to  that  impetuous 
river.  The  rocks  and  precipices  which  stooped  down  perpen- 
dicularly on  our  path  on  the  right  hand,  exhibited  a  few 
remains  of  the  wood  which  once  clothed  them,  but  which  had, 
in  latter  times,  been  felled  to  supply,  Donald  MacLeish  in 
formed  us,  the  iron-foundries  at  the  Bunawe.  This  made  us 
fix  our  eyes  with  interest  on  one  large  oak,  which  grew  on  the 
left  hand  toward  the  river.  It  seemed  a  tree  of  extraordmary 
magnitude  and  picturesque  beauty,  and  stood  just  where  there 
appeared  to  be  a  few  roods  of  open  ground  lying  among  huge 
stones,  which  had  rolled  down  from  the  mountain.  To  add  to 
the  romance  of  the  situation,  the  spot  of  clear  ground  extended 
round  the  foot  of  a  proud-browed  rock,  from  the  summit  of 
which  leaped  a  mountain  stream  in  a  fall  of  sixty  feet,  in  which 
it  was  dissolved  into  foam  and  dew.  At  the  bottom  of  the  fall 
the  rivulet  with  difficulty  collected,  like  a  routed  general,  its 
dispersed  forces,  and,  as  if  tamed  by  its  descent,  found  a 
noiseless  passage  through  the  heath  to  join  the  Awe. 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  tree  and  waterfall,  and  wished 
myself  nearer  them ;  not  that  I  thought  of  sketch-book  or  port- 
folio,— for,  in  my  younger  days,  Misses  were  not  accustomed  to 
black  lead  pencils,  unless  they  could  use  them  to  some  good 
purpose, — but  merely  to  indulge  myself  with  a  closer  view. 
Donald  immediately  opened  the  chase-door,  but  observed  it  was 
rough  walking  down  the  brae,  and  that  I  would  see  the  tree 
better  by  keeping  the  road  for  a  hundred  yards  further,  when 
it  passed  closer  to  the  spot,  for  which  he  seemed,  however,  to 
have  no  predilection.  "  He  knew,"  he  said,  "  a  far  bigger  tree 
than  that  nearer  Bunawe,  and  it  was  a  place  where  there  was 
flat  ground  for  the  carriage  to  stand,  which  it  could  jimply  do 
on  these  braes  ; — but  just  as  my  leddyship  liked." 

My  ladyship  did  choose  rather  to  look  at  the  fine  tree  before 
me,  than  to  pass  it  by  in  hopes  of  a  finer;  so  we  walked  beside 
the  carriage  till  we  should  come  to  a  point,  from  which,  Donald 


THE  HIGHLAXD    WIDOW.  69 

assured  us,  we  might,  without  scrambling,  go  as  near  the  tree 
as  we  chose,  "though  he  wadna  advise  us  to  go  nearer  than  the 
hi-h-road." 

There  was  something  grave  and  mysterious  in  Donald's  sun- 
browned  countenance  when  he  gave  us  this  intimatioUj  and  his 
manner  was  so  different  from  his  usual  frankness,  that  my  female 
curiosity  was  set  in  motion.  We  walked  on  the  whilst,  and  I 
found  the  tree,  of  which  we  had  now  lost  sight  by  the  interven- 
tion of  some  rising  ground,  was  really  more  distant  than  I  had 
at  first  supposed.  "  I  could  have  sworn  now,"  said  I  to  my 
cicerone,  "  that  yon  tree  and  waterfall  was  the  very  place  where 
you  intended  to  make  a  stop  to-dav." 

"  The  Lord  forbid  !  "  said  Donald,  hastily. 

"  And  for  what,  Donald  .-'  why  should  you  be  willing  to  pass 
such  a  pleasant  spot  ?  " 

"  It's  ower  near  Dalmally,  my  leddy,  to  corn  the  beasts — it 
would  bring  their  dinner  oucr  near  their  breakfast,  poor  things  : 
— an',  besides,  the  place  is  not  canny." 

"  Oh  !  then  the  mystery  is  out.  There  is  a  bogle  or  a  brownie, 
a  witch  or  a  gyrecarlin,  a  bodach  or  a  fairy,  in  the  case  ?" 

"  The  ne'er  a  bit,  my  leddy — you  are  clean  afif  the  road,  as  I 
may  say.  But  if  your  leddyship  will  just  hae  patience,  and 
wait  till  we're  by  the  place  and  out  of  the  glen,  I'll  tell  ye  all 
about  it.  There  is  no  much  luck  in  speaking  of  such  things  in 
the  place  they  chanced  in." 

I  was  obliged  to  suspend  my  curiosity,  observing,  that  if  I 
persisted  in  twisting  the  discourse  one  way  while  Donald  was 
twining  it  another,  I  should  make  his  objection,  like  a  hempen- 
cord,  just  so  much  the  tougher.  At  length  the  promised  turn 
of  the  road  brought  us  within  fifty  paces  of  the  tree  which  I 
desired  to  admire,  and  I  now  saw,  to  my  surprise,  that  there 
was  a  human  habitation  among  the  cliffs  which  surrounded  it. 
It  was  a  hut  of  the  least  dimensions,  and  most  miserable  de- 
scription, that  I  ever  saw  even  in  the  Highlands.  The  walls  of 
sod  or,  divot,  as  the  Scotch  call  it,  were  not  four  feet  high — the 
roof  was  of  turf,  repaired  with  reeds  and  sedges — the  chimney 
was  composed  of  clay,  bound  round  by  straw  ropes — and  the 
whole  walls,  roof,  and  chimney,  were  alike  covered  with  the 
vegetation  of  house-leek,  rye-grass  and  moss,  common  to  de- 
cayed cottages  formed  of  such  materials.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  vestige  of  a  kale-yard,  the  usual  accompaniment  of  the 
very  worst  huts;  and  of  living  things  we  saw  nothing,  save  a 
kid  which  was  browsing  on  the  roof  of  the  hut,  and  a  goat,  its 
mother,  at  some  distance,  feeding  betwixt  the  oak  and  the  riv^r 
Awe. 


^t)  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

"What  man,"  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  "can  have  conv 
mitted  sin  deep  enough  to  deserve  such  a  miserable  dwelling?" 

"  Sin  enough,"  said  Donald  MacLeish,  with  a  half-suppressed 
groan  ;  "  and  God  he  knovveth,  misery  enough  too  ; — and  it  is 
no  man's  dwelling  neither,  but  a  woman's." 

"  A  woman's  I  "  I  repeated,  "  and  in  so  lonely  a  place— 
What  sort  of  a  woman  can  she  be  ?  " 

"  Come  this  way,  my  leddy,  and  you  may  judge  that  for  your- 
self," said  Donald.  And  by  advancing  a  few  steps,  and  making 
a  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  we  gained  a  sight  of  the  side  of  the 
great  broad-breasted  oak,  in  the  direction  opposed  to  that  in 
which  we  had  hitherto  seen  it. 

"  If  she  keeps  her  old  wont,  she  will  be  there  at  this  hour 
of  the  day,"  said  Donald  ;  but  immediately  became  silent,  and 
pointed  with  his  finger,  as  one  afraid  of  being  overheard.  I 
looked,  and  beheld,  not  without  some  sense  of  awe,  a  female 
form  seated  by  the  stem  of  the  oak,  with  her  head  drooping, 
her  hands  clasped,  and  a  dark-colored  mantle  drawn  over  her 
head,  exactly  as  Judah  is  represented  in  the  Syrian  medals  as 
seated  under  her  palm-tree.  I  was  infected  with  the  fear  and 
reverence  which  my  guide  seemed  to  entertain  toward  this 
solitary  being,  nor  did  I  think  of  advancing  toward  her  to 
obtain  a  nearer  view  until  I  had  cast  an  inquiring  look  on 
Donald  ;  to  which  he  replied  in  a  half  whisper — "  She  has  been 
a  fearfu'  bad  woman,  my  leddy." 

"  Mad  woman,  said  you  }  "  replied  I,  hearing  him  imperfect- 
ly ;  " then  she  is  perhaps  dangerous  ?  " 

"  No — she  is  not  mad,"  replied  Donald  ;  "  for  then  it  may 
be  she  would  be  happier  than  she  is  ;  though  when  she  thinks 
on  what  she  has  done,  and  caused  to  be  done,  rather  than  yield 
up  a  hair-breadth  of  her  ain  wicked  will,  it  is  not  likely  she 
can  be  very  well  settled.  But  she  neither  is  mad  nor  mis- 
chievous ;  and  yet,  my  leddy,  I  think  you  had  best  not  go 
nearer  to  her."  And  then,  in  a  few  hurried  words,  he  made  me 
acquainted  with  the  storv  which  I  am  now  to  tell  more  in  detail. 
I  heard  the  narrative  with  a  mixture  of  horror  and  sympathy, 
which  at  once  impelled  me  to  approach  the  sufterer,  and  speak 
to  her  the  words  of  comfort,  or  rather  of  pit}-,  and  at  the  same 
time  made  me  afraid  to  do  so. 

This  indeed  was  the  feeling  with  which  she  was  regarded  by 
the  Highlanders  in  the  neighborhood,  who  looked  upon  Elspat 
MacTavish,  or  the  Woman  of  the  Tree,  as  they  called  her,  as 
the  Greeks  considered  those  who  were  pursued  by  the  Furies, 
and  endured  the  mental  torment  consequent  on  great  criminal 
actions.     They  regarded  such  unhappy  beings  as  Orestes  and 


THE  IIIGflLAN-D   IVIDOW.  yj 

CEdipus,  as  being  less  the  voluntary  perpetrators  of  their  crimes, 
than  as  the  passive  instruments  by  which  the  terrible  decrees 
of  Destiny  tiad  been  accomplished  ;  and  the  fear  with  which 
they  beheld  them  was  not  unmingled  with  veneration. 

I  also  learned  further  from  Donald  MacLeish,  that  there  was 
some  apprehension  of  ill  luck  attending  those  who  had  the  bold- 
ness to  approach  too  near,  or  disturb  the  awful  solitude  of  a  being 
so  unutterably  miserable  ;  that  it  was  supposed  that  whosoever 
approached  her  must  experience  in  some  respect  the  contagion 
of  her  wretchedness. 

It  was  therefore  with  some  reluctance  that  Donald  saw 
me  prepare  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of  the  sufferer,  and  that 
he  himself  followed  to  assist  me  in  the  descent  down  a  very 
rough  path.  I  believe  his  regard  for  me  conquered  some 
ominous  feelings  in  his  own  breast,  which  connected  his  duty 
on  this  occasion  with  the  presaging  fear  of  lame  horses,  lost 
linch-pins,  overturns,  and  other  perilous  chances  of  the  oostilion's 
life. 

I  am  not  sure  if  my  own  courage  would  have  carried  me  so 
close  to  P^lspat,  had  he  not  followed.  There  was  in  her  counte- 
nance the  stern  abstraction  of  hopeless  and  overpowering  sor- 
row, mixed  with  the  contending  feelings  of  remorse,  and  of  the 
pride  w-hich  struggled  to  conceal  it.  She  guessed,  perhaps,  that 
it  was  curiosity,  arising  out  of  her  uncommon  story,  which 
induced  me  to  intrude  on  her  solitude — and  she  could  not  be 
pleased  that  a  fate  like  hers  had  been  the  theme  of  a  traveler's 
amusement.  Yet  the  look  with  which  she  regarded  me  was  one 
of  scorn  instead  of  embarrassment.  The  opinion  of  the  world 
and  all  its  children  could  not  add  or  take  an  iota  from  her  load 
of  misery  ;  and,  save  from  the  half  smile  that  seemed  to  inti- 
mate the  contempt  of  a  being  rapt  by  the  very  intensity  of  her 
affliction  above  the  sphere  of  ordinary  humanities,  she  seemed 
as  indifferent  to  my  gaze  as  if  she  had  been  a  dead  corpse  or  a 
marble  statue. 

Elspat  was  above  the  middle  stature  ;  her  hair,  now  grizzled, 
was  still  profuse,  and  it  had  been  of  the  most  decided  black. 
So  were  her  eyes,  in  which,  contradicting  the  stern  and  rigid 
features  of  her  countenance,  there  shone  the  wild  and  troubled 
light  that  indicates  an  unsettled  mind.  Her  hair  was  wrapt 
round  a  bilver  bodkin  with  some  attention  to  neatness,  and 
her  dark  mantle  was  disposed  around  her  with  a  degree  of  taste, 
though  the  materials  were  of  the  most  ordinary  sort. 

After  gazing  on  this  victim  of  guilt  and  calamity  till  I  was 
ashamed  to  remain  silent,  though  uncertain  how  I  ought  to 
address  her,  I  began  to  express  my  surprise  at  her  choosing  such 


72 


THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


a  desert  and  deplorable  dwelling.  She  cut  short  these  expres- 
sions of  sympathy,  by  answering  in  a  stern  voice,  without  the 
least  change  of  countenance  or  posture — "  Daughter  of  the 
stranger,  he  has  told  you  my  story."  I  was  silenced  at  once, 
and  felt  how  little  all  earthly  accommodation  must  seem  to  the 
mind  which  had  such  subjects  as  hers  for  rumination.  With- 
out again  attempting  to  open  the  conversation,  I  took  a  piece 
of  gold  from  my  purse  (for  Donald  had  intimated  she  lived 
on  alms),  expecting  she  would  at  least  stretch  her  hand  to 
receive  it.  But  she  neither  accepted  nor  rejected  the  gift — she 
did  not  even  seem  to  notice  it,  though  twenty  times  as  valuable, 
probably,  as  was  usually  offered.  I  was  obliged  to  place  it  on 
her  knee,  saying  involuntarily,  as  I  did  so,  "  May  God  pardon 
you,  and  relieve  you  !  "  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  which  she 
cast  up  to  Heaven,  nor  the  tone  in  which  she  exclaimed,  in  the 
very  words  of  my  old  friend,  John  Home — 

"  My  beautiful — my  brave  !  " 

It  was  the  language  of  nature,  and  arose  from  the  heart  of 
the  deprived  mother,  as  it  did  from  that  gifted  imaginative 
poet,  while  furnishing  with  appropriate  expressions  the  ideal 
grief  of  Lady  Randolph. 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 

Oh,  I'm  come  to  the  Low  Country, 

Och,  och,  ohonochie, 
Without  a  penny  in  my  pouch 

To  buy  a  meal  for  me. 
T  was  the  proudest  of  my  clan, 

Long,  long  niav  I  repine  ; 
And  Donald  was  the  bravest  man, 

And  Donald  he  was  mine. 

Old  Song. 

Elspat  had  enjoyed  happy  days,  though  her  age  had  sunk 
into  hopeless  and  inconsolable  sorrow  and  distress.  She  was 
once  the  beautiful  and  happy  wife  of  Hamish  MacTavish,  for 
whoui  his  strength  and  feats  of  prowess  had  gained  the  title  of 
MacTavish  Mhor.  His  life  was  turbulent  and  dangerous,  his 
habits  being  of  the  old  Highland  stamp,  which  esteemed  it 
shame  to  want  anything  that  could  be  had  for  the  taking. 
Those  in  the  Lowland  line,  who  lay  near  him,  and  desired  to 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


n 


enjoy  their  lives  and  property  in  quiet,  were  contented  to  pay 
him  a  small  composition,  in  the  name  of  protection  money,  and 
comforted  themselves  with  the  old  proverb,  that  it  was  better 
to  "  fleech  the  deil  than  fight  him."  Others,  who  accounted 
such  composition  dishonorable,  were  often  surprised  by  Mac- 
Tavish  Mhor,  and  his  associates  and  followers,  who  usually 
inflicted  an  adequate  penalty,  either  in  person  or  property,  or 
both.  The  creagh  is  yet  remembered,  in  which  he  swept  one 
hundred  and  fifty  cows  from  Monteith  in  one  drove  ;  and  how 
he  placed  the  Laird  of  Ballybught  naked  in  a  slough,  for  having 
threatened  to  send  for  a  party  of  the  Highland  Watch  to  pro- 
tect his  property. 

Whatever  were  occasionally  the  triumphs  of  this  daring 
cateran,  they  were  often  exchanged  for  reverses  ;  and  his  nar- 
row escapes,  rapid  flights,  and  the  ingenious  stratagems  with 
which  he  extricated  himself  from  eminent  danger,  were  no  less 
remembered  and  admired  than  the  exploits  in  which  he  had 
been  successful.  In  weal  or  woe,  through  every  species  of 
fatigue,  difficulty,  and  danger,  Elspat  was  his  faithful  companion. 
She  enjoyed  with  him  the  fits  of  occasional  prosperity;  and 
when  adversity  pressed  them  hard,  her  strength  of  mind,  readi- 
ness of  wit,  and  courageous  endurance  of  danger  and  toil,  are 
said  often  to  have  stimulated  the  exertions  of  her  husband. 

Their  morality  was  of  the  old  Highland  cast,  faithful  friends 
and  fierce  enemies ;  the  Lowland  herds  and  harvests  they  ac- 
counted their  own,  whenever  they  had  the  means  of  driving  oil 
the  one,  or  of  seizing  upon  the  other;  nor  did  the  least  scruple 
on  the  right  of  property  interfere  on  such  occasions.  Hamish 
Mhor  argued  like  the  old  Cretan  warrior  : — 

My  sword,  my  spear,  my  shaggy  shield, 

They  make  me  lord  of  all  below; 
For  he  who  dreads  the  lance  to  wield, 

Before  my  shaggy  shield  must  bow. 
His  lands,  his  vineyards  must  resign, 
And  all  that  cowards  have  is  mine. 

But  those  days  of  perilous,  though  frequently  successful 
depredation,  began  to  be  abridged,  after  the  failure  of  the 
expedition  of  Prince  Charles  Edward.  MacTavish  Mhor  had 
not  sat  still  on  that  occasion,  and  he  was  outlawed,  both  as  a 
traitor  to  the  state,  and  as  a  robber  and  cateran.  Garrisons 
were  now  settled  in  many  places  where  a  red-coat  had  never 
before  been  seen,  and  the  Saxon  war-drum  resounded  among 
the  most  hidden  recesses  of  the  Highland  mountains.  The 
fftte  of  MacTavish  became  every  day  more  inevitable  ;  and  it 


74 


THE  IJJGIJLAND    WIDOW. 


was  the  more  difficult  for  him  to  make  his  exertions  for  defence 
or  escape,  that  Elspat,  amid  his  evil  days,  had  increased  his 
family  with  an  infant  child,  which  was  a  considerable  encum- 
brance upon  the  necessary  rapidity  of  their  motions. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  arrived.  In  a  strong  pass  on  the 
skirts  of  Ben  Cruachan,  the  celebrated  MacTavish  Mhor  was 
surprised  by  a  detachment  of  the  Sidier  Roy.*  His  wife  assisted 
him  heroically,  charging  his  piece  from  time  to  time  ;  and  as  they 
were  in  possession  of  a  post  that  was  nearly  unassailable,  he 
might  have  perhaps  escaped  if  his  amn\unition  had  lasted. 
But  at  length  his  balls  were  expended,  although  it  was  not 
until  he  had  fired  oft  most  of  the  silver  buttons  from  his  waist- 
coat, and  the  soldiers,  no  longer  deterred  by  fear  of  the  unerr- 
ing marksman,  who  had  slain  three,  and  wounded  more  of  their 
number,  approached  his  stronghold,  and,  unable  to  take  him 
alive,  slew  him,  after  a  most  desperate  resistance. 

All  this  Elspat  witnessed  and  survived,  for  she  had,  in  the 
child  which  relied  on  her  for  support,  a  motive  for  strength  and 
exertion.  In  what  manner  she  maintained  herself  it  is  not  easy 
to  say.  Her  only  ostensible  means  of  support  were  a  flock  of 
three  or  four  goats,  which  she  fed  wherever  she  pleased  on  the 
mountain  pastures,  no  one  challenging  the  intrusion.  In  the 
general  distress  of  the  country,  her  ancient  acquaintances  had 
little  to  bestow  ;  but  what  they  could  part  with  from  their  own 
necessities,  they  willingly  devoted  to  the  relief  of  others.  From 
Lowlanders  she  sometimes  demanded  tribute,  rather  than  re- 
quested alms.  She  had  not  forgotten  she  was  the  widow  of 
MacTavish  Mhor,  or  that  the  child  who  trotted  by  her  knee, 
might,  such  were  her  imaginations,  emulate  one  day  the  fame 
of  his  father,  and  command  the  same  influence  which  he  had 
once  exerted  without  control.  She  associated  so  little  with 
others,  went  so  seldom  and  so  unwillingly  from  the  wildest 
recesses  of  the  mountains,  where  she  usually  dwelt  with  her 
goats,  that  she  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  great  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  country  around  her.  the  substitution  of 
civil  order  for  military  violence,  and  the  strength  gained  by  the 
law  and  its  adherents  over  those  who  were  called  in  Gaelic  song, 
"the  stormy  sons  of  the  sword."  Her  own  diminished  conse- 
quence and  straitened  circumstances  she  indeed  felt,  but  for 
this  the  death  of  MacTavish  Mhor  was,  in  her  apprehension,  a 
sufficing  reason  ;  and  she  doubted  not  that  she  should  rise  to 
her  former  state  of  importance,  when  Hamish  Baen  (or  Fair- 
haired  James)  should  be  able  to  wield  the  arms  of  his  father, 

*  The  Red  Soldier. 


THE  HIGHLAND    IVIDOW. 


7S 


If,  then,  Elspat  was  repelled  rudely  when  she  demanded  any- 
thing necessary  for  her  wants,  or  the  accommodation  of  her 
little  flock,  by  a  churlish  farmer,  her  threats  of  vengeance, 
obscurely  expressed,  yet  terrible  in  their  tenor,  used  frequently 
to  extort,  through  fear  of  her  maledictions,  the  relief  which  was 
denied  to  her  necessities ;  and  the  trembling  goodwife,  who 
gave  meal  or  money  to  the  widow  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  wished 
in  her  heart  that  the  stern  old  carlin  had  been  burnt  on  the 
day  her  husband  had  his  due. 

Years  thus  ran  on,  and  Hamish  Baen  grew  up,  not  indeed 
to  be  of  his  father's  size  or  strength,  but  to  become  an  active, 
high-spirited,  fair-haired  youth,  with  a  ruddy  cheek,  and  eye 
like  an  eagle,  and  all  the  agility,  if  not  all  the  strength,  of  his 
formidable  father,  upon  whose  history  and  achievements  his 
mother  dwelt,  in  order  to  form  her  son's  mind  to  a  similar 
course  of  adventures.  But  the  young  see  the  present  state  of 
this  changeful  world  more  keenly  than  the  old.  Much  at- 
tached to  his  mother,  and  disposed  to  do  all  in  his  power  for 
her  support,  Hamish  yet  perceived,  when  he  mixed  with  the 
world,  that  the  trade  of  the  cateran  was  now  alike  dangerous 
and  discreditable,  and  that  if  he  were  to  emulate  his  father's 
prowess,  it  must  be  in  some  other  line  of  warfare,  more  conso- 
nant to  the  opinions  of  the  present  day. 

As  the  faculties  of  mind  and  body  began  to  expand,  he  be- 
came more  sensible  of  the  precarious  nature  of  his  situation, 
of  the  erroneous  views  of  his  mother,  and  her  ignorance  respect- 
ing the  changes  of  the  society  with  which  she  mingled  so  little. 
In  visiting  friends  and  neighbors,  he  became  aware  of  the 
extremely  reduced  scale  to  which  his  parent  was  limited,  and 
learned  that  she  possessed  little  or  nothing  more  than  the  abso- 
lute necessaries  of  life,  and  that  these  were  sometimes  on  the 
point  of  failing.  At  times  his  success  in  fishing  and  the  chase 
was  able  to  add  something  to  her  subsistence  ;  but  he  saw  no 
regular  means  of  contributing  to  her  support,  unless  by  stoop- 
ing to  servile  labor,  which,  if  he  himself  could  have  endured 
it,  would,  he  knew,  have  been  like  a  death's-wound  to  the 
pride  of  his  mother. 

Elspat,  meanwhile,  saw  with  surprise,  that  Hamish  Baen, 
although  now  tall  and  fit  for  the  field,  showed  no  disposition 
to  enter  on  his  father's  scene  of  action.  There  was  something 
of  the  mother  at  her  heart,  which  prevented  her  from  urging 
him  in  plain  terms  to  take  the  field  as  a  cateran,  for  the  fear 
occurred  of  the  perils  into  which  the  trade  must  conduct  him  ; 
and  when  she  would  have  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject,  it 
seemed  to  her  heated  imagination  as  if  the  ghost  of  her  hus* 


^6  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

band  arose  between  them  in  his  bloody  tartans,  and,  laying  his 
finger  on  his  lips,  appeared  to  prohibit  the  topic.  Yet  she 
wondered  at  what  seemed  his  want  of  spirit,  siglied  as  she  saw 
him  from  day  to  day  lounging  about  in  the  long-skirted  Low- 
land coat,  which  the  legislature  had  imposed  upon  the  Gael  in- 
stead of  their  own  romantic  garb,  and  thought  how  much  neaici 
he  would  have  resembled  her  husband,  had  he  been  clad  in  the 
belted  plaid,  and  short  hose,  with  his  polished  arms  gleaming 
at  his  side. 

Besides  these  subjects  for  anxiety,  Elspat  had  others  arising 
from  the  engrossing  impetuosity  of  her  temper.  Her  love  of 
MacTavish  Mhor  had  been  qualified  by  respect  and  sometimes 
even  by  fear;  for  the  cateran  was  not  the  species  of  man  who 
submits  to  female  government ;  but  over  his  son  she  had  ex- 
erted, at  first  during  childhood,  and  afterward  in  early  youth, 
an  imperious  authority,  which  gave  her  maternal  love  a  char- 
acter of  jealousy.  She  could  not  bear,  when  Hamish,  with 
advancing  life,  made  repeated  steps  toward  independence,  ab- 
sented himself  from  her  cottage  at  such  season,  and  for  such 
length  of  time  as  he  chose,  and  seemed  to  consider,  although 
maintaining  toward  her  every  possible  degree  of  respect  and 
kindness,  that  the  control  and  responsibility  of  his  actions 
rested  on  himself  alone.  This  would  have  been  of  little  conse- 
quence, could  she  have  concealed  her  feelings  within  her  own 
bosom ;  but  the  ardor  and  impatience  of  her  passions  made 
her  frequently  show  her  son  that  she  conceived  herself  neg- 
lected and  ill-used.  When  he  was  absent  for  any  length  of 
time  from  her  cottage,  without  giving  intimation  of  his  purpose, 
her  resentment  on  his  return  used  to  be  so  unreasonable,  that 
it  naturally  suggested  to  a  young  man,  fond  of  independence, 
and  desirous  to  amend  his  situation  in  the  world,  to  leave  her, 
even  for  the  very  purpose  of  enabling  him  to  provide  for  the 
parent  whose  egotistical  demands  on  his  filial  attention  tended 
to  confine  him  to  a  desert,  in  which  both  were  starving  in 
hopeless  and  helpless  indigence. 

Upon  one  occasion,  the  son  having  been  guilty  of  some  in- 
dependent excursion,  by  which  the  mother  felt  herself  affronted 
and  disobliged,  she  had  been  more  than  usually  violent  on  his 
return,  and  awakened  in  Hamish  a  sense  of  displeasure,  which 
clouded  his  b:> 'W  and  cheek.  At  length,  as  she  persevered  in 
her  unreasonable  resentment,  his  patience  became  exhausted, 
and  taking  his  gun  from  the  chimney  corner,  and  muttering  to 
himself  the  reply  which  his  respect  for  his  mother  prevented 
him  from  speaking  aloud,  he  was  about  to  leave  the  hut  which 
be  had  but  barely  entered. 


THR   HIGHLAN-D    WTDOW.  yy 

*'  Hamish,"  said  his  mother,  "are  you  again  about  to  leave 
me  ? "  But  Hamish  only  replied  by  looking  at  and  rubbing  the 
lock  of  his  gun. 

"  Ay,  rub  the  lock  of  your  gun,"  said  his  parent,  bitterly ; 
"  I  am  glad  you  have  courage  enough  to  fire  it,  though  it  be 
but  at  a  roe-deer."  Hamish  started  at  this  undeserved  taunt, 
and  cast  a  look  of  anger  at  her  in  reply.  She  saw  that  she  had 
found  the  means  of  giving  him  pain. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "look  fierce  as  you  will  at  an  old  woman, 
and  your  mother ;  it  would  be  long  ere  you  bent  your  brow  on 
the  angry  countenance  of  a  bearded  man." 

"  Be  silent,  mother,  or  speak  of  what  you  understand,"  said 
Hamish,  much  irritated,  "  and  that  is  of  the  distaff  and  the 
spindle." 

"  And  was  it  of  spindle  and  distaff  that  I  was  thinking  when 
I  bore  you  away  on  my  back  through  the  fire  of  six  of  the 
Saxon  soldiers,  and  you  a  wailing  child  ?  I  tell  you,  Hamish, 
I  know  a  hundred-fold  more  of  swords  and  guns  than  ever  you 
will ;  and  you  will  never  learn  so  much  of  noble  war  by  your- 
self, as  you  have  seen  when  you  were  wrapt  up  in  my  plaid." 

"  You  are  determined  at  least  to  allow  me  no  peace  at  home, 
mother;  but  this  shall  have  an  end,"  said  Hamish,  as,  resum- 
ing his  purpose  of  leaving  the  hut,  he  rose  and  went  toward 
the  door. 

"  Stay,  I  command  you,"  said  his  mother ;  "  stay,  or  may 
the  gun  you  carry  be  the  means  of  your  ruin — may  the  road 
you  are  going  be  the  track  of  your  funeral ! " 

"  What  makes  you  use  such  words,  mother  ?  "  said  the  young 
man,  turning  a  little  back — "  they  are  not  good,  and  good  can- 
not come  of  them.  Farewell  just  now ;  we  are  too  angry  to 
speak  together — farewell ;  it  will  be  long  ere  you  see  mc  again." 
And  he  departed,  his  mother,  in  the  first  burst  of  her  impa- 
tience, showering  after  him  her  maledictions,  and  in  the  next 
invoking  them  on  her  own  head,  so  that  they  might  spare  her 
son's.  She  passed  that  day  and  the  next  in  all  the  vehemence 
of  impotent  and  yet  unrestrained  passion,  now  entreating 
Heaven,  and  such  powers  as  were  familiar  to  her  by  rude  tra- 
dition, to  restore  her  dear  son,  "  the  calf  of  her  heart ;  "  now 
in  impatient  resentment,  meditating  with  what  bitter  terms  she 
should  rebuke  his  filial, disobedience  upon  his  return,  and  now 
studying  the  most  tender  language  to  attach  him  to  the  cottage, 
which,  when  her  boy  was  present,  she  would  not,  in  the  rapture 
of  her  affection,  have  exchanged  for  the  apartments  of  Tay- 
mouth  Castle. 

Two  days  passed,  during  which,  neglecting  even  the  slender 


yg  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

means  of  supporting  nature  which  her  situation  afTordeu,  noth- 
ing but  the  strength  of  a  frame  accustomed  to  hardships  and 
privations  of  every  kind,  could  have  kept  her  in  existence,  not- 
withstanding the  anguish  of  her  mind  prevented  her  being  sen- 
sible of  her  personal  weakness.  Her  dwelling,  at  this  period, 
was  the  same  cottage  near  which  I  had  found  her,  but  then 
more  habitable  by  the  exertions  of  Hamish,  by  whom  it  had 
been  in  a  great  measure  built  and  repaired. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  her  son  had  disappeared,  as 
she  sat  at  the  door  rocking  herself,  after  the  fashion  of  her 
countr}'\vomen  when  in  distress  or  in  pain,  that  the  then  un- 
wonted circumstance  occurred  of  a  passenger  being  seen  on  the 
highroad  above  the  cottage.  She  cast  but  one  glance  at  him 
— he  was  on  horseback,  so  that  it  could  not  be  Hamish,  and 
Elspat  cared  not  enough  for  any  other  being  on  earth  to  make 
her  turn  her  eyes  toward  him  a  second  time.  The  stranger, 
however,  paused  opposite  to  her  cottage,  and  dismounting  from 
his  pony,  led  it  down  the  steep  and  broken  path  which  conduct- 
ed to  the  door. 

"  God  bless  you,  Elspat  MacTavish  !  " — She  looked  at  the 
man  as  he  addressed  her  in  her  native  language,  with  the  dis- 
pleased air  of  one  whose  reverie  is  interrupted ;  but  the  trav- 
eler went  on  to  say,  "  I  bring  you  tidings  of  your  son  Hamish." 
At  once  from  being  the  most  uninteresting  object,  in  respect  to 
Elspat,  that  could  exist,  the  form  of  the  stranger  became  awful 
in  her  eyes,  as  that  of  a  messenger  descended  from  Heaven,  ex- 
pressly to  pronounce  upon  her  death  or  life.  She  started  from 
her  seat,  and  with  hands  convulsively  clasped  toge;her,  and 
held  up  to  Heaven,  eyes  fixed  on  the  stranger's  countenance, 
and  person  stooping  forward  to  him,  she  looked  those  inquiries, 
which  her  faltering  tongue  could  not  articulate.  "  Your  son 
sends  you  his  dutiful  remembrance  and  this,"  said  the  messen- 
ger, putting  into  Elspat's  hand  a  small  purse  containing  four  or 
five  dollars. 

"  He  is  gone  he  is  gone  !  "  exclaimed  Elspat ;  "  he  has  sold 
himself  to  be  the  servant  of  the  Saxons,  and  1  shall  never  more 
behold  him!  Tell  me,  Miles  MacPhadraick,  for  now  I  know 
you,  is  it  the  price  of  the  son's  blood  that  you  have  put  into  the 
mother's  hand  ?  " 

"Now,  God  forbid!"  answered  MacPhadraick,  who  was  a 
tacksman,  and  had  possession  of  a  considerable  tract  of  ground 
under  his  CI  "ef,  a  proprietor  who  lived  about  twentv  miles  off — 
"  God  forbid  I  should  do  wrong,  or  say  wrong,  to  you,  or  to  the 
son  of  MacTavish  Mhor  !  I  swear  to  you  by  the  hand  of  my 
Chief,  that  your  son  is  well,  and  will  soon  see  you,  and  the  rest 


THE  mCffLAN-D    WIDOW. 


79 


he  will  tell  you  himself."  So  saying,  MacPhadiaick  hastened 
back  up  the  pathway,  gained  the  road,  mounted  his  pony,  and 
rode  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER  THIRD. 

Elspat  Mactavish  remained  gazing  on  the  money,  as  if  the 
impress  of  the  coin  could  have  conveyed  information  how  it  was 
procured. 

"  I  love  not  this  MacPhadraick,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  **  it 
was  his  race  of  whom  the  Bard  hath  spoken,  saying.  Fear  them 
not  when  their  words  are  loud  as  the  winter's  wind,  but  fear 
them  when  they  fall  on  you  like  the  sound  of  the  thrush's  song. 
And  yet  this  riddle  can  be  read  but  one  way  :  My  son  hath 
taken  the  sword,  to  win  that  with  strength  like  a  man,  which 
churls  would  keep  him  from  with  the  swords  that  frighten 
children."  This  idea,  when  once  it  occurred  to  her,  seemed  the 
more  reasonable,  that  MacPhadraick,  as  she  well  knew,  himself 
a  cautious  man,  had  so  far  encouraged  her  husband's  practices, 
as  occasionally  to  buy  cattle  of  MacTavish,  although  he  must 
have  well  known  now  they  were  come  by,  taking  care,  however, 
that  the  transaction  was  so  made,  as  to  be  accompained  with 
great  profit  and  absolute  safety.  Who  so  likely  as  MacPhadraick 
to  indicate  to  a  young  cateran  the  glen  in  which  he  could  com- 
mence his  perilous  trade  with  most  prospect  of  success?  who  so 
likely  to  convert  his  booty  into  money  ?  The  feelings  which 
another  might  have  experienced  on  believing  that  an  only  son 
had  rushed  forward  on  the  same  path  in  which  his  father  had 
perished,  were  scarce  known  to  the  Highland  mothers  of  that 
day.  She  thought  of  the  death  of  MacTavish  Mhor  as  that  of 
a  hero  who  had  fallen  in  his  proper  trade  of  war,  and  who  had 
not  fallen  unavenged.  She  feared  less  for  her  son's  life  than 
for  his  dishonor.  She  dreaded  on  his  account  the  subjection  to 
strangers,  and  the  death-sleep  of  the  soul  which  is  brought  on 
by  what  she  regarded  as  slavery. 

The  moral  principle  which  so  naturally  and  so  justly  occurs 
to  the  mind  of  those  who  have  been  educated  under  a  settled 
government  of  laws  that  protect  the  property  of  the  weak  against 
the  incursions  of  the  strong,  was  to  poor  Elspat  a  book  sealed 
and  a  fountain  closed.  She  had  been  taught  to  consider  those 
whom  they  called  Saxons  as  a  race  with  whom  the  Gael  were 
constantly  at  war,  and  she  regarded  every  settlement  of  theirs 


8o  THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

within  the  reach  of  Highland  incursion,  as  affording  a  legitimate 
object  of  attack  and  plunder.  Her  feelings  on  this  point  had 
been  strengthened  and  confirmed,  not  only  by  the  desire  of 
revenge  for  the  death  of  her  husband,  but  by  the  sense  of 
general  indignation  entertained,  not  unjustly,  through  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  on  account  of  the  barbarous  and  violent 
conduct  of  the  victors  after  the  battle  of  Culloden.  Other 
Highland  clans,  too,  she  regarded  as  the  fair  objects  of  plunder 
when  that  was  possible,  upon  the  score  of  ancient  enmities  and 
deadly  feuds. 

The  prudence  that  might  have  weighed  the  slender  means 
which  the  times  afforded  for  resisting  the  efforts  of  a  combined 
government,  which  had,  in  its  less  compact  and  established 
authority,  been  unable  to  put  down  the  ravages  of  such  lawless 
caterans  as  MacTavish  Mhor,  was  unknown  to  a  solitary  woman, 
whose  ideas  still  dwelt  upon  her  own  early  times.  She  imagined 
that  her  son  had  only  to  proclaim  himself  his  father's  successor 
in  adventure  and  enterprise,  and  that  a  force  of  men  as  gallant 
as  those  who  had  followed  his  father's  banner  would  crowd 
around  to  support  it  when  again  displayed.  To  her,  Hamish 
was  the  eagle  who  had  only  to  soar  aloft  and  resume  his  native 
place  in  the  skies,  without  her  being  able  to  comprehend  how 
many  additional  eyes  would  have  watched  his  flight,  how  many 
additional  bullets  would  have  been  directed  at  his  bosom.  To 
be  brief,  Elspat  was  one  who  viewed  the  present  state  of 
society  with  the  same  feelings  with  which  she  regarded  the 
times  that  had  passed  away.  She  had  been  indigent,  neglected, 
oppressed,  since  the  days  that  her  husband  had  no  longer  been 
feared  and  powerful,  and  she  thought  that  the  term  of  her  as- 
cendence  would  return  vvhen  her  son  had  determined  to  play 
the  part  of  his  father.  If  she  permitted  her  eye  to  glance  further 
into  futurity,  it  was  but  to  anticipate  that  she  must  be  for  many  a 
day  cold  in  the  grave,  with  the  coronach  of  her  tribe  cried  duly 
over  her,  before  her  fair-haired  Hamish  could,  according  to  her 
calculation,  die  with  his  hand  on  the  basket-hilt  of  the  red  clay- 
more. His  father's  hair  was  gray,  ere,  after  a  hundred  dangers, 
he  had  fallen  with  his  arms  in  his  hands.  That  she  should  have 
seen  and  survived  the  sight,  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
manners  of  that  age.  And  better  it  was — such  was  her  proud 
thought — that  she  had  seen  him  so  die,  than  to  have  witnessed 
his  departure  from  life  in  a  smoky  hovel — on  a  bed  of  rotten 
straw,  like  an  over-worn  hound,  or  a  bullock  which  died  of 
disease.  But  the  hour  of  her  young,  her  brave  Hamish.  was 
yet  far  distant.  He  must  succeed — he  must  conquer,  like  his 
father.     And  when  he  fell  at  length, — for  she  anticipated  foi 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  8l 

him  no  bloodless  death, — Elspat  would  ere  then  have  lain  long 
in  the  grave,  and  could  neither  see  his  death-struggle,  nor  mourn 
over  his  grave-sod. 

With  such  wild  notions  working  in  her  brain,  the  spirit  of 
Elspat  rose  to  its  usual  pitch,  or  rather  to  one  which  seemed 
higher.  In  the  emphatic  language  of  Scripture,  which  in  that 
idiom  does  not  greatly  differ  from  her  own,  she  arose,  she  washed 
and  changed  her  apparel,  and  ate  bread,  and  was  refreshed. 

She  longed  eagerly  for  the  return  of  her  son,  but  she  now 
longed  not  with  the  bitter  anxiety  of  doubt  and  apprehension. 
She  said  to  herself,  that  much  must  be  done  ere  he  could,  in 
these  times,  arise  to  be  an  eminent  and  dreaded  leader.  Yet 
when  she  saw  him  again,  she  almost  expected  him  at  the  head 
of  a  daring  band,  with  pipes  playing,  and  banners  flying,  the 
noble  tartans  fluttering  free  in  the  wind,  in  spite  of  the  laws 
which  had  suppressed,  under  severe  penalties,  the  use  of  the 
national  garb,  and  all  the  appurtenances  of  Highland  Chivalry. 
For  all  this,  her  eager  imagination  was  content  only  to  allow  the 
interval  of  some  days. 

From  the  moment  this  opinion  had  taken  deep  and  serious 
possession  of  her  mind,  her  thoughts  were  bent  upon  receiving 
her  son  at  the  head  of  his  adherents,  in  the  manner  in  which  she 
used  to  adorn  her  hut  for  the  return  of  his  father. 

The  substantial  means  of  subsistence  she  had  not  the  power 
of  providing,  nor  did  she  consider  that  of  importance.  The 
successful  caterans  would  bring  with  them  herds  and  flocks. 
But  the  interior  of  her  hut  was  arranged  for  their  reception — 
the  usquebaugh  was  brewed,  or  distilled,  in  a  larger  quantity  than 
it  could  have  been  supposed  one  lone  woman  could  have  made 
ready.  Her  hut  was  put  into  such  order  as  might,  in  some 
degree,  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  day  of  rejoicing.  It  was 
swept,  and  decorated  with  boughs  of  various  kinds,  like  the 
house  of  a  Jewess,  upon  what  is  termed  the  Feast  of  the 
Tabernacles.  The  produce  of  the  milk  of  her  little  flock  was 
prepared  in  as  great  variety  of  forms  as  her  skill  admitted,  to 
entertain  her  son  and  his  associates,  whom  she  expected  to  re- 
ceive along  with  him. 

But  the  principal  decoration,  which  she  sought  with  the  great- 
est toil,  was  the  cloud-berry,  a  scarlet  fruit,  which  is  only  found 
on  very  high  hills,  and  there  only  in  very  small  quantities. 
Her  husband,  or  perhaps  one  of  his  forefathers,  had  chosen 
this  as  the  emblem  of  his  family,  because  it  seemed  at  once  to 
imply  by  its  scarcity  the  smallness  of  their  clan,  and  by  the 
places  in  which  it  was  found,  the  ambitious  height  of  their  pre- 
tensions. 


S2  THE  HIGH  LA  XD    WIDOW. 

For  the  time  that  these  simple  preparations  for  welcome  en- 
dured, Elspat  was  in  a  state  of  troubled  happiness.  In  fact, 
her  only  anxiety  was,  that  she  might  be  able  to  complete  all 
that  she  could  do  to  welcome  Hamish  and  the  friends  who  she 
supposed  must  have  attached  themselves  to  his  band  before 
they  should  arrive,  and  find  her  unprovided  for  their  recep- 
tion. 

But  when  such  efforts  as  she  could  make  had  been  accom- 
plished, she  once  more  had  nothing  left  to  engage  her  save  the 
trifling  care  of  her  goats ;  and  when  these  had  been  attended 
to,  she  had  only  to  review  her  little  preparations,  renew  such 
as  were  of  a  transitory^  nature,  replace  decayed  branches,  and 
fading  boughs,  and  then  to  sit  down  at  her  cottage  door  and 
watch  the  road,  as  it  ascended  on  the  one  side  from  the  banks 
of  the  Awe,  and  on  the  other  wound  round  the  heights  of  the 
mountain,  with  such  a  degree  of  accommodation  to  hill  and 
level  as  the  plan  of  the  military  engineer  permitted.  While  so 
occupied,  her  imagination,  anticipating  the  future  from  recollec- 
tions of  the  past,  formed  out  of  the  morning-mist,  or  the  evening- 
cloud,  the  wild  forms  of  an  advancing  band,  which  were  then 
called  "  Sidier  Dhu," — dark  soldiers — dressed  in  their  native 
tartan,  and  so  named  to  distinguish  them  from  the  scarlet  rankj 
of  the  British  army.  In  this  occupation  she  spent  many  houn 
of  each  morning  and  evening. 


CHAPTER  FOURTH. 


It  was  in  vain  that  Elspat's  eyes  surveyed  the  distant  path 
by  the  earliest  light  of  the  dawn  and  the  latest  glimmer  of  the 
twilight.  No  rising  dust  awakened  the  expectation  of  nodding 
plumes  or  flashing  arms ;  the  solitary  traveler  trudged  list- 
lessly along  in  his  brown  lowland  great-coat,  his  tartans  dyed 
black  or  purple,  to  comply  with,  or  evade,  the  law,  which  pro- 
hibited their  being  worn  in  their  variegated  hues.  The  spirit 
of  the  Gael,  sunk  and  broken  by  the  severe  though  perhaps  nec- 
essary laws  that  proscribed  the  dress  and  arms  which  he  con- 
sidered as  his  birthright,  was  intimated  by  his  drooping  head 
and  dejected  appearance.  Not  in  such  depressed  wanderers 
did  Elspat  recognize  the  light  and  free  step  of  her  son,  nov/,  as 
she  concluded,  regenerated  from  every  sign  of  Saxon  thraldom. 
Night  by  night,  as  darkness  came,  she  removed  from  her  un- 
closed door  to  throw  herself  on  her  restless  pallet,  not  to  sleep. 


THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  83 

but  to  watch.  The  brave  and  the  terrible,  she  said,  walk  by 
night — their  steps  are  heard  in  darkness,  when  all  is  silent  save 
the  whirlwind  and  the  cataract — the  timid  deer  comes  only  forth 
when  the  sun  is  upon  the  mountain's  peak  ;  but  the  bold  wolf 
walks  in  the  red  light  of  the  harvest-moon.  She  reasoned  in 
vain — her  son's  expected  summons  did  not  call  her  from  the 
lowly  couch,  where  she  lay  dreaming  of  his  approach.  Hamish 
came  not. 

*' Hope  deferred,"  saith  the  royal  sage,  "maketh  the  heart 
sick  ;  "  and  strong  as  was  Elspat's  constitution,  she  began  to 
experience  that  it  was  unequal  to  the  toils  to  which  her  anxious 
and  immoderate  affection  subjected  her,  when  early  one  morning 
the  appearance  of  a  traveler  on  the  lonely  mountain-road  re- 
vived hopes  which  had  begun  to  sink  into  listless  despair.  There 
was  no  sign  of  Saxon  subjugation  about  the  stranger.  At  a 
distance  she  could  see  the  flutter  of  the  belted-plaid,  that  drooped 
in  graceful  folds  behind  him,  and  the  plume  that,  placed  in 
the  bonnet,  showed  rank  and  gentle  birth.  He  carried  a  gun 
over  his  shoulder,  the  claymore  was  swinging  by  his  side,  with  its 
usual  appendages,  the  dirk,  the  pistol,  and  the  sporran  moUach* 
Ere  yet  her  eye  had  scanned  all  these  particulars,  the  light  step 
of  the  traveler  was  hastened,  his  arm  was  waved  in  token  of 
recognition — a  moment  more,  and  Elspat  held  in  her  arms  her 
darling  son,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  his  ancestors,  and  looking, 
in  her  maternate  eyes,  the  fairest  among  ten  thousand  ! 

The  first  outpouring  of  affection  it  would  be  impossible  to 
describe.  Blessings  mingled  with  the  most  endearing  epithets 
which  her  energetic  language  affords,  in  striving  to  express  the 
wild  rapture  of  Elspat's  jo}'.  Her  board  was  heaped  hastily 
with  all  she  had  to  offer  ;  and  the  mother  watched  the  young 
soldier  as  he  partook  of  the  refreshment,  with  feelings  how 
similar  to,  yet  how  different  from,  those  with  which  she  had 
seen  him  draw  his  first  sustenance  from  her  bosom  ! 

When  the  tumult  of  joy  was  appeased,  Elspat  became  anxi- 
ous to  know  her  son's  acK'cntures  since  they  parted,  and  could 
not  help  greatly  censuring  his  rashness  for  traversing  the  hills 
in  the  Highland  dress  in  the  broad  sunshine,  when  the  penalty 
was  so  heavy,  and  so  many  red  soldiers  were  abroad  in  the 
country. 

"  Fear  not  for  me,  mother,"  said  Hamish,  in  atone  designed 
to  relieve  her  anxietv,  and  yet  somewhat  embarrassed  ;  "  I 
may  wear  the  hreacan  t  at  the  gate  of  Fort-Augustus,  if  I  like 
it."' 

*The  goat-skin  pouch,  worn  by  the  Highlanders  round  their  waistc 
t  That  which  is  variegated,  i.e,  the  tartan. 


84  THE   ///G/ILA.VD    U'lDOlK 

"  Oh,  be  not  too  daring,  my  beloved  Hamish,  though  it  be 
the  fault  which  best  becomes  thy  father's  son — yet  be  not  too 
daring  !  Alas,  they  fight  not  now  as  in  former  days,  with  fair 
weajoons,  and  on  equal  terms,  but  take  odds  of  numbers  and  of 
arms,  so  that  the  feeble  and  the  strong  are  alike  leveled  by  the 
shot  of  a  bo}'.  And  do  not  think  me  unworthy  to  be  called 
your  father's  widow,  and  your  mother,  because  I  speak  thus  ; 
for  God  knoweth,  tliat,  man  to  man,  I  would  peril  thee  against 
the  best  in  Breadalbane,  and  broad  Lorn  beside?." 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dearest  mother,''  replied  Hamish,  "  that 
I  am  in  no  danger.  But  have  you  seen  MacPhadraick,  mother, 
and  what  has  he  said  to  you  on  my  account  ?  " 

"  Silver  he  left  me  in  plenty,  Hamish  ;  but  the  best  of  his 
comfort  was,  that  you  were  well,  and  would  see  me  soon.  But 
beware  of  I\IacPhadraick,  my  son  ;  for  when  he  called  himself 
the  friend  of  your  father,  he  better  loved  the  most  worthless 
stirk  in  his  herd  than  he  did  the  life-blood  of  MacTavish 
Alhor.  Use  his  services,  therefore,  and  pay  him  for  them — for 
it  is  thus  we  should  deal  with  the  unworthy  ;  but  take  my 
counsel,  and  trust  him  not." 

Hamish  could  not  suppress  a  sigh,  which  seemed  to  Elspat 
to  intimate  that  the  caution  came  too  late.  "What  have  you 
done  with  him,"  she  continued,  eager  and  alarmed.  "I  had 
money  of  him,  and  he  gi\es  not  that  without  value — he  is  none 
of  those  who  exchange  barley  for  chaff.  Oh,  if  you  repent  you 
of  your  bargain,  and  if  it  be  one  which  you  may  break  off  with- 
out disgrace  to  your  truth  or  your  manhood,  take  back  his 
silver,  and  trust  not  to  his  fair  words." 

"  It  may  not  be,  mother,"  said  Hamish  ;  "I  do  not  repent 
my  engagement,  unless  that  it  must  make  me  leave  you  soon." 

"  Leave  me  !  how  leave  me  ?  Silly  bo}',  think  you  1  know 
not  what  duty  belongs  to  the  wife  or  mother  of  a  daring  man  ? 
Thou  art  but  a  boy  yet ;  and  when  thy  father  had  been  the 
dread  of  the  country  for  twenty  years,  he  did  not  despise  my 
company  and  assistance,  but  often  said  my  help  was  worth  that 
of  two  strong  gillies." 

"  It  is  not  on  that  score,  mother ;  but  since  I  must  leave 
the  country  " 

'*  Leave  the  country ! "  replied  the  mother,  interrupting 
him  ;  "  and  think  you  that  I  am  like  a  bush,  that  is  rooted  to 
rne  soil  where  it  grows,  and  must  die  if  carried  elsewhere  ?  I 
have  breathed  other  winds  than  these  of  Ben  Cruachan — I  have 
followed  your  father  to  the  wilds  of  Ross,  and  the  impenetra- 
ble deserts  of  Y  Mac  Y  Mhor — Tush,  man,  my  limbs,  old  as 


THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  85 

they  are,  will  bear  me  as  far  as  your  young  feet  can  trace  the 
way." 

"  Alas,  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  faltering  ac- 
cent, "  but  to  cross  the  sea  " 

"The  sea!  who  am  I  that  I  should  fear  the  sea!  Have  I 
never  been  in  a  birling  in  my  life — never  known  the  Sound  of 
Mull,  the  Isles  of  Treshornish,  and  the  rough  rocks  of  Harris  ?  '* 

"  Alas,  mother,  I  go  far,  far  from  all  of  these — I  am  en- 
listed in  one  of  the  new  regiments,  and  we  go  against  the 
French  in  America." 

"  Enlisted  !  "  uttered  the  astonished  mother — "  against  my 
will — without  my  consent — you  could  not, — you  would  not,"' — 
then  rising  up,  and  assuming  a  posture  of  almost  imperial  com- 
mand, "  Hamish,  you  dared  not  !  " 

"  Despair,  mother,  dares  everything,"  answered  Hamish,  in  a 
tone  of  melancholy  resolution.  *'  What  should  I  do  here,  where 
I  can  scarce  get  bread  for  myself  and  you,  and  when  the  times 
are  growing  daily  worse  ?  Would  you  but  sit  down  and  listen, 
I  would  convince  you  I  have  acted  for  the  best." 

With  a  bitter  smile  Elspat  sat  down,  and  the  same  severe 
ironical  expression  was  on  her  features,  as,  with  her  lips  firmly 
closed,  she  listened  to  his  vindication. 

Hamish  went  on,  without  being  disconcerted  by  her  expected 
displeasure.  "  When  I  left  you,  dearest  mother,  it  was  to  go  to 
MacPhadraick's  house  ;  for  although  I  knew  he  is  crafty  and 
worldly,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Sassenach,  yet  he  is  wise,  and 
I  thought  how  he  would  teach  me,  as  it  would  cost  him  nothing, 
in  which  way  I  could  mend  our  estate  in  the  world." 

"  Our  estate  in  the  world  I  "  said  Elspat,  losing  patience  at 
the  word  ;  "  and  went  you  to  a  base  fellow,  with  a  soul  no 
better  than  that  of  a  cowherd,  to  ask  counsel  about  your  con- 
duct ?  Your  father  asked  none,  save  of  his  courage  and  his 
sword." 

"  Dearest  mother,"  answered  Hamish,  "  how  shall  I  convince 
you  that  you  live  in  this  land  of  our  fathers,  as  if  our  fathers 
were  yet  living  .-'  You  walk  as  it  were  in  a  dream,  surrounded 
by  the  phantoms  of  those  who  have  been  long  with  the  dead. 
When  my  father  lived  and  fought,  the  gieat  respected  the  man 
of  the  strong  right  hand,  and  the  rich  feared  him.  He  had 
protection  from  MacAllum  More,  and  from  Caberfae,*  and 
tribute  from  meaner  men.  That  is  ended,  and  his  son  would 
only  earn  a  disgraceful  and  unpitied  death,  by  the  practices 
which  gave  his  father  credit  and  power  among  those  who  wear 

*  Caberfae — AtigHce.  the  Stag's  he.id, — the  Celtic  designation  foi   the 
arms  of  the  famiiy  uf  the  high  Chief  of  Seaforth  |  Mackenzie). 


86  THE  HIGHLAND   WIDOW. 

the  breacan.  The  land  is  conquered — its  lights  are  quenched— 
Glengary,  Lochiel,  Perth,  Lord  Lewis,  all  the  high  chiefs  are 
dead  or  in  exile — We  may  mourn  for  it,  but  we  cannot  help  it. 
Bonnet,  broadsword,  and  sporran — power,  strength,  and  wealth, 
were  all  lost  on  Drummossie  Muir."  * 

*'  It  is  false  !  "  said  Elspat,  fiercely  ;  "  you,  and  such  like 
dastardly  spirits,  are  quelled  by  your  own  faint  hearts,  not  by  the 
strength  of  the  enemy  ;  you  are  like  the  fearful  waterfowl,  to 
whom  the  least  cloud  in  the  sky  seems  the  shadow  of  the 
eagle." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  proudly,  "  lay  not  faint  heart  to  my 
charge.  I  go  where  men  are  wanted  who  have  strong  arms  and 
bold  hearts  too.  I  leave  a  desert  for  a  land  where  I  may  gather 
fame." 

"  And  you  leave  your  mother  to  perish  in  want,  age,  and 
solitude,"  said  Elspat,  essaying  successively  every  means  of  mov- 
ing a  resolution,  which  slie  began  to  see  was  more  deeply  rooted 
than  she  had  at  first  thought. 

*'  Not  so,  neither,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  leave  you  to  comfort 
and  certainty,  which  you  have  yet  never  known.  Barcaldine's 
son  is  made  a  leader,  and  with  him  I  have  enrolled  myself  ; 
MacPhadraick  acts  for  him,  and  raises  men,  and  finds  his  own 
in  doing  it." 

"  That  is  the  truest  word  of  the  tale,  were  all  the  rest  as 
false  as  hell,"  said  the  old  woman,  bitterly. 

"  But  we  are  to  find  our  good  in  it  also,"  continued  Hamisn  ; 
"  for  Barcaldine  is  to  give  you  a  shieling  in  his  wood  of  LettsJV- 
findreight,  with  grass  for  your  goats,  and  a  cow,  when  you  pleacyj 
to  have  one,  on  the  common  ;  and  my  own  pay,  dearest  motlwr, 
thougli  I  am  far  away,  will  do  more  than  provide  you  wic'/x 
meal  and  with  all  else  you  can  want.  Do  not  fear  for  me.  \ 
enter  a  private  gentleman  ;  but  I  will  return,  if  hard  fighting 
and  regular  duty  can  deserve  it,  an  officer,  and  with  half-a-dollai 
a-day." 

"  Poor  child  !  " — replied  Elspat,  in  a  tone  of  pity  mingled 
with  contempt,  "  and  you  trust  MacPhadraick  ?  " 

"  I  might,  mother," — said  Hamish,  the  dark  red  color  ol 
his  race  crossing  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  "  for  MacPhadraick 
knows  the  blood  which  flows  in  my  veins,  and  is  aware,  that 
should  he  break  trust  with  you,  he  might  count  the  days  which 
could  bring  Hamish  back  to  Breadalbane;  and  number  those  of 
his  life  within  three  suns  more.  I  would  kill  him  at  his  own 
hearth  did  he  break  his  word  with  me — I  would,  by  the  gre,it 
Being  who  made  us  both  !  " 

*  [The  battle-field  of  CuUoden.] 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  87 

The  look  and  atiilude  of  the  young  soldier  for  a  moment 
overawed  Elspat  ;  she  was  unused  to  see  him  express  a  deep 
and  bitter  mood,  which  reminded  her  so  strongly  of  his  father, 
but  she  resumed  her  remonstrances  in  the  same  taunting  manner 
in  which  she  had  commenced  them. 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  she  said  ;  "  and  you  think  that  at  the  distance 
of  half  the  world  your  threats  will  be  heard  or  thought  of  ! 
But,  go — go — place  your  neck  under  him  of  Hanover's  yoke 
against  whom  every  true  Gael  fought  to  the  death. — Go,  dis 
own  the  royal  Stuart,  for  whom  your  father,  and  his  fathers, 
and  your  mother's  fathers,  have  crimsoned  many  a  field  with 
their  blood. — Go,  put  your  head  under  the  belt  of  one  of  the 
race  of  Dermid,  whose  children  murdered — yes,"  the  added 
with  a  wild  shriek,  "  murdered  your  mother's  fathers  in  their 
peaceful  dwellings  in  Glencoe  ! — Yes,"  she  again  exclaimed, 
with  a  wilder  and  shriller  scream,  "  I  was  then  unborn,  but  my 
mother  has  told  me — and  I  attended  to  the  voice  of  wj' mother 
— Well  I  remember  her  words  ! — They  came  in  peace,  and  were 
received  in  friendship,  and  blood  and  fire  arose,  and  screams, 
and  murder  !  "  * 

"  Mother,"  answered  Hamish,  mournfully,  but  with  a  decid- 
ed tone,  "all  that  I  have  thought  over — there  is  not  a  drop  of 
the  blood  of  Glencoe  on  the  noble  hand  of  Barcaldine — with 
the  unhappy  house  of  Glenlyon  the  curse  remains,  and  on  them 
God  hath  avenged  it." 

"  You  speak  like  the  Saxon  priest  already,"  replied  his 
mother;  "will  you  not  better  stay,  and  ask  a  kirk  from  Mac- 
Allum  More,  that  you  may  preach  forgiveness  to  the  race  of 
Dermid?" 

"  Yesterday  was  yesterday,"  answered  Hamish,  "  and  to-day 
is  to-day.  When  the  clans  are  crushed  and  confounded  to- 
gether, it  is  well  and  wise  that  their  hatreds  and  their  feuds 
should  not  survive  their  independence  and  their  j^ower.  He 
that  cannot  execute  vengeance  like  a  man  should  not  harbor 
useless  enmity  like  a  craven.  Mother,  young  Barcaldine  is  true 
and  brave  ;  I  know  that  MacPhadraick  counseled  him,  that  he 
should  not  let  me  take  leave  of  you,  lest  you  dissuaded  me 
from  my  purpose  ;  but  he  said,  '  Hamish  MacTavish  is  the  son 
of  a  brave  man,  and  he  will  not  break  his  word.'  Mother, 
Barcaldine  leads  an  hundred  of  the  bravest  of  the  sons  of  the 
Gael  in  their  native  dress,  and  with  their  fathers'  arms — heart 
to  heart — shoulder  to  shoulder.  I  have  sworn  to  go  with  him 
— He  has  trusted  me,  and  I  will  trust  him." 

*  [A  succinct  account  of  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe  will  be  found  io 
Scott's  Poetical  Works.\ 


88  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

At  this  reply,  so  firmly  and  resolvedly  pronounced,  Elspaf 
remained  like  one  thunderstruck,  and  sunk  in  despair.  The 
arguments  which  she  had  considered  so  irresistibly  conclusive, 
had  recoiled  like  a  wave  from  a  rock.  After  a  long  pause,  sue 
filled  her  son's  quaigh,  and  presented  it  to  him  with  an  air  of 
dejected  deference  and  submission. 

"  Drink,"  she  said,  "  to  thy  father's  roof-tree,  ere  you  leave 
it  for  ever  ;  and  tell  me,  since  the  chains  of  a  new  King,  and 
of  a  new  Chief,  whom  your  fathers  knew  not  save  as  mortal 
enemies,  are  fastened  upon  the  limbs  of  your  father's  son, — tell 
me  how  many  links  you  count  upon  them  .'  " 

Hamish  took  the  cup,  but  looked  at  her  as  if  uncertain  of 
her  meaning.  She  proceeded  in  a  raised  voice,  "  Tell  me," 
she  said,  "  for  I  have  a  right  to  know,  for  how  many  days  the 
will  of  those  you  have  made  your  masters  permits  me  to  look 
upon  you  i* — In  other  words,  how  many  are  the  days  of  my  life 
— for  when  you  leave  me,  the  earth  has  nought  besides  worth 
living  for !  " 

"  Mother,"  replied  Hamish  MacTavish,  "  for  six  days  I  may 
remain  with  you,  and  if  you  will  set  out  with  me  on  the  fifth,  I 
will  conduct  you  in  safety  to  your  new  dwelling.  But  if  you 
remain  here,  then  I  will  depart  on  the  seventh  by  daybreak — 
then,  as  at  the  last  moment,  I  must  set  out  for  Dumbarton,  for 
if  I  appear  not  on  the  eighth  day,  I  am  subject  to  punishment 
as  a  deserter,  and  dishonored  as  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman." 

"Your  father's  foot,"  she  answered,  "  was  free  as  the  wind 
on  the  heath — it  were  as  vain  to  say  to  him,  where  goest  thou, 
as  to  ask  that  viewless  driver  of  the  clouds,  wherefore  blowest 
thou  ?  Tell  me  under  what  penalty  thou  must — since  go  thou 
must,  and  go  thou  wilt — return  to  thy  thraldom  ? " 

"  Call  it  not  thraldom,  mother,  it  is  the  service  of  an  honor- 
able soldier — the  only  service  which  is  now  open  to  the  son  of 
MacTavish  Mhor." 

*'  Yet  say  what  is  the  penalty  if  thou  shouldst  not  return  !  " 
replied  Elspat. 

"Military  punishment  as  a  deserter,"  answered  Hamish; 
writhing,  however,  as  his  mother  failed  not  to  observe,  under 
some  internal  feelings,  which  she  resolved  to  probe  to  the  utter- 
most. 

"  And  that,"  she  said,  with  assumed  calmness,  which  her 
glancing  eye  disowned,  "  is  the  punishment  of  a  disobedient 
hound,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  mother,"  said  Hamish  ;  "the  punishment 
is  nothing  to  one  who  will  never  deserve  it." 

*'  To  me  it  i§  something,"  replied  Elspat,  "  since  I  know 


TirE  niGiiLAiXD  jvrnoiv.  89 

better  than  thou,  that  where  there  is  power  to  inflict,  there  is 
often  the  will  to  do  so  without  cause.  I  would  pray  for  thee, 
Hamish,  and  I  must  know  against  what  evils  I  shouM  beseech 
Him  who  leaves  none  unguarded,  to  protect  thy  youth  and  sim- 
plicity." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  "  it  signifies  little  to  what  a  criminal 
may  be  exposed,  if  a  man  is  determined  not  to  be  such.  Our 
Highland  chiefs  used  also  to  punish  their  vassals,  and,  as  I 
have  heard,  severely. — Was  it  not  Lachlan  Maclan,  whom  we 
remember  of  old,  whose  head  was  struck  off  by  order  of  his 
chieftain  for  shooting  at  the  stag  before  him  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Elspat,  "  and  right  he  had  to  lose  it,  since  he 
dishonored  the  father  of  the  people  even  in  the  face  of  the 
assembled  clan.  But  the  chiefs  were  noble  in  their  ire — they 
punished  with  the  sharp  blade,  and  not  with  the  baton.  Their 
punishments  drew  blood,  but  they  did  not  infer  dishonor.  Canst 
thou  say  the  same  for  the  laws  under  whose  yoke  thou  hast 
placed  thy  freeborn  neck  ?  " 

"  I  cannot — mother — I  cannot,"  said  Hamish,  mournfully. 
"  I  saw  them  punish  a  Sassenach  for  deserting,  as  they  called 
it,  his  banner.  He  was  scourged — I  own  it — scourged  like  a 
hound  who  has  offended  an  imperious  master.  I  was  sick  at 
the  sight — I  confess  it.  But  the  punishment  of  dogs  is  only 
for  those  worse  than  clogs,  who  know  not  how  to  keep  their 
faith." 

"  To  this  infamy,  however,  thou  hast  subjected  thyself, 
Hamish,"  replied  Elspat,  "if  thou  shouldst  give,  or  thy  officers 
take  measures  of  offence  against  thee. — I  speak  no  more  to 
thee  on  thy  purpose. — Were  the  sixth  day  from  this  morning's 
sun  my  dying  day,  and  thou  wert  to  stay  to  close  mine  eyes, 
thou  wouldst  run  the  risk  of  being  lashed  like  a  dog  at  a  post — 
yes  !  unless  thou  hadst  the  gallant  heart  to  leave  me  to  die  alone, 
and  upon  my  desolate  hearth,  the  last  spark  of  thy  father's  fire, 
and  of  thy  forsaken  mother's  life,  to  be  extinguished  together  !  " 
— Hamish  traversed  the  hut  with  an  impatient  and  angry  pace. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  length,  "concern  not  yourself  about 
such  things.  I  cannot  be  subjected  to  such  infamy,  for  never 
will  I  deserv^e  it ;  and  were  I  threatened  with  it,  I  should  know 
how  to  die  before  I  was  so  far  dishonored." 

"  There  spoke  the  son  of  the  husband  of  my  heart !  "  replied 
Elspat ;  and  she  changed  the  discourse,  and  seemed  to  listen  in 
melancholy  acquiescence,  when  her  son  reminded  her  how  short 
the  time  was  which  they  were  permitted  to  pass  in  each  other's 
society,  and  entreated  that  it  might  be  spent  without  useless 


9d 


THE  HIGHLAXD    WIDOW. 


and  unpleasant  recollections  respecting  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  must  soon  be  separated. 

Elspat  was  now  satisfied  that  her  son,  with  some  of  his 
father's  other  properties,  preserved  the  haughty  masculine  spixit 
which  rendered  it  impossible  to  divert  him  from  a  resolution 
which  he  had  deliberately  adopted.  She  assumed,  therefore,  an 
exterior  of  apparent  submission  to  their  inevitable  separation  ; 
and  if  she  now  and  then  broke  out  into  complaints  and  murmurs, 
it  was  either  that  she  could  not  altogether  suppress  the  natural 
impetuosity  of  her  temper,  or  because  she  had  the  wit  to  con- 
sider, that  a  total  and  unreserved  acquiescence  might  have 
seemed  to  her  son  constrained  and  suspicious,  and  induced  him 
to  watch  and  defeat  the  means  by  which  she  still  hoped  to  pre- 
vent his  leaving  her.  Her  ardent,  though  selfish  affection  for 
her  son,  incapable  of  being  qualified  by  a  regard  for  the  true  in- 
terests of  the  unfortunate  object  of  her  attachment,  resembled 
the  instinctive  fondness  of  the  animal  race  for  their  offspring  ; 
and,  diving  little  further  into  futurity  than  one  of  the  inferior 
creatures,  she  only  felt,  that  to  be  separated  from  Hamish  was 
to  die. 

In  the  brief  interval  ]:)ermitted  them,  Elspat  exhausted  every 
art  which  affection  could  devise,  to  render  agreeable  to  him  the 
space  which  they  were  apparently  to  spend  with  each  other. 
Her  memory  carried  her  far  back  into  former  days,  and  her 
stores  of  legendary  history,  which  furnish  at  all  times  a  principal 
amusement  of  the  Highlander  in  his  moments  of  repose,  were 
augmented  by  an  unusual  acquaintance  with  the  songs  of  ancient 
bards,  and  traditions  of  the  most  approved  Seannachies  and 
tellers  of  tales.  Her  officious  attentions  to  her  son's  accommo- 
dation, indeed,  were  so  unremitted  as  almost  to  give  him  pain  ; 
and  he  endeavored  quietly  to  prevent  her  from  taking  so  much 
personal  toil  in  selecting  the  blooming  heath  for  his  bed,  or  pre- 
paring the  meal  for  his  refreshment.  "  Let  me  alone,  Hamish," 
she  would  reply  on  such  occasions  ;  "  you  follow  your  own  will 
in  departing  from  your  mother,  let  your  mother  have  hers  in 
doing  what  gives  her  pleasure  while  you  remain." 

So  much  she  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to  the  arrangements 
which  he  had  made  in  her  behalf,  that  she  could  hear  him  speak 
to  her  of  her  removing  to  the  lands  of  Green  Colin,  as  the  gentle- 
man was  called,  on  whose  estate  he  had  provided  her  an  asylum. 
In  truth,  however,  nothing  could  be  further  from  her  thoughts. 
From  what  he  had  said  during  their  first  violent  dispute, 
Elspat  had  gathered,  that  if  Hamish  returned  not  by  the 
appointed  time  permitted  by  his  furlough,  he  would  incur  the 
hazard  of  corporal  punishment.     Were  he  placed  within  the 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  91 

risk  of  being  thus  dishonored,  she  was  well  ware  that  he  would 
never  submit  to  the  disgrace  by  return  to  the  regiment  where 
it  might  be  inflicted.  Whether  she  looked  to  any  further  prob- 
able consequences  of  her  unhappy  scheme,  cannot  be  known  ; 
but  the  partner  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  in  all  his  perils  and  wan^ 
derings,  was  familiar  with  a  hundred  instances  of  resistance  or 
escape,  by  which  one  brave  man,  amidst  a  land  of  rocks,  lakes, 
and  mountains,  dangerous  passes,  and  dark  forests,  might 
baffle  the  pursuit  of  hundreds.  For  the  future,  therefore,  she 
feared  nothing ;  her  sole  engrossing  object  was  to  prevent  her 
son  from  keeping  his  word  with  his  commanding  officer. 

With  this  secret  purpose,  she  evaded  the  proposal  which 
Hamish  repeatedly  made,  that  they  should  set  out  together  to 
take  possession  of  her  new  abode  ;  and  she  resisted  it  upon 
grounds  apparently  so  natural  to  her  character,  that  her  son 
was  neither  alarmed  nor  displeased.  "  Let  me  not,"  she  said, 
"  in  the  same  short  week,  bid  farewell  to  my  only  son,  and  to 
the  glen  in  which  I  have  so  long  dwelt.  Let  my  eye,  when 
dimmed  with  weeping  for  thee,  still  look  around,  for  a  while  at 
least,  upon  Loch  Awe  and  on  Ben  Cruachan." 

Hamish  yielded  the  more  willingly  to  his  mother's  humor  in 
this  particular,  that  one  or  two  persons  who  resided  in  a  neigh- 
boring glen,  and  had  given  their  sons  to  Barcaldine's  levy, 
were  also  to  be  provided  for  on  the  estate  of  the  chieftain,  and 
it  was  apparently  settled  that  Elspat  was  to  take  her  journey 
along  with  them  when  they  should  remove  to  their  new  resi- 
dence. Thus,  Hamish  believed  that  he  had  at  once  indulged 
his  mother's  humor,  and  ensured  her  safety  and  accommoda- 
tion. But  she  nourished  in  her  mind  very  different  thoughts 
and  projects  ! 

The  period  of  Hamish's  leave  of  absence  was  fast  approach- 
ing, and  more  than  once  he  proposed  to  depart,  in  such  a  time 
as  to  ensure  his  gaining  easily  and  early  Dumbarton,  the  town 
where  were  the  head-quarters  of  his  regiment.  But  still  his 
mother's  entreaties,  his  own  natural  disposition  to  linger  among 
scenes  long  dear  to  him,  and  above  all,  his  firm  reliance  in  his 
speed  and  activity,  induced  him  to  protract  his  departure  till 
the  sixth  day,  being  the  very  last  which  he  could  possibly  afford 
to  spend  with  his  mother,  if  indeed  he  meant  to  comply  with 
the  conditions  of  his  furlough. 


52  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


CHAPTER  FIFTH. 

But,  for  your  son, — believe  it,  oh,  believe  it^ 
Most  dangerously  you  have  with  him  prevailed, 
If  not  most  mortal  to  him. — 

CORIOLANUS. 

On  the  evening  which  preceded  his  proposed  departure, 
Hamish  walked  down  to  the  river  with  his  fishing-rod,  to  prac- 
tice in  the  Awe,  for  the  last  time,  a  sport  in  which  he  excelled, 
and  to  find,  at  the  same  time,  the  means  for  making  one  social 
meal  with  his  mother,  on  something  better  than  their  ordinary 
cheer.  He  was  as  successful  as  usual,  and  soon  killed  a  fine 
salmon.  On  his  return  homeward,  an  incident  befell  him, 
which  he  afterward  related  as  ominous,  though  probably  his 
heated  imagination,  joined  to  the  universal  turn  of  his  country- 
men for  the  marvelous,  exaggerated  into  superstitious  import- 
ance some  very  ordinary  and  accidental  circumstance. 

In  the  path  which  he  pursued  homeward,  he  was  surprised 
to  observe  a  person,  who,  like  himself,  was  dressed  and  armed 
after  the  old  Highland  fashion.  The  first  idea  that  struck  him 
was,  that  the  passenger  belonged  to  his  own  corps,  who,  levied 
by  government,  and  bearing  arms  under  royal  authority,  were 
not  amenable  for  breach  of  the  statutes  against  the  use  of 
the  Highland  garb  or  weapons.  But  he  was  struck  on  perceiv- 
ing, as  he  mended  his  pace  to  make  up  to  his  supposed  comrade, 
meaning  to  request  his  company  for  the  next  day's  journey,  that 
the  stranger  wore  a  white  cockade,  the  fatal  badge  which  was 
proscribed  in  the  Highlands.  The  stature  of  the  man  was  tall, 
and  there  was  something  shadowy  in  the  outline,  which,  added  to 
his  size  and  his  mode  of  motion,  which  rather  resembled  gliding 
than  walking,  impressed  Hamish  with  sui:)erstitious  fears  con- 
cerning the  character  of  the  being  which  thus  passed  before  him 
in  the  twilight.  He  no  longer  strove  to  make  up  to  the  stranger, 
but  contented  himself  with  keeping  him  in  view,  under  the  super- 
stition, common  to  the  Highlanders,  that  you  ought  neither  to 
intrude  yourself  on  such  supernatural  apparitions  as  you  may 
witness,  nor  avoid  their  presence,  but  leave  it  to  themselves  to 
withhold  or  extend  their  communication,  as  their  power  may 
permit,  or  the  purpose  of  their  commission  require. 

Upon  an  elevated  knoll  by  the  side  of  the  road,  just  where 
»iie  pathway  turned  down  to  Elspat's  hut,  the  stranger  made  a 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


93 


pause,  and  seemed  to  await  Hamish's  coming  up.  Hamish,  on 
his  part,  seeing  it  was  necessary  he  should  pass  the  object  of 
his  suspicion,  mustered  up  his  courage,  and  approached  the 
spot  where  the  stranger  had  placed  himself ;  who  first  pointed 
to  Elspat's  hut,  and  made,  with  arm  and  head,  a  gesture  pro- 
hibiting Hamish  to  approach  it,  then  stretched  his  hand  to  the 
road  which  led  to  the  southward,  with  a  motion  which  seemed 
to  enjoin  his  instant  departure  in  that  direction.  In  a  moment 
afterward  the  plaided  form  was  gone — Hamish  did  not  exactly 
say  vanished,  because  there  were  rocks  and  stunted  trees 
enough  to  have  concealed  him  ;  but  it  was  his  own  opinion  that 
he  had  seen  the  spirit  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  warning  him  to 
commence  his  instant  journey  to  Dumbarton,  without  waiting 
till  morning,  or  again  visiting  his  mother's  hut. 

In  fact,  so  many  accidents  might  arise  to  delay  his  journey, 
especially  where  there  were  many  ferries,  that  it  became  his 
settled  purpose,  though  he  could  not  depart  without  bidding  his 
mother  adieu,  that  he  neither  could  nor  would  abide  longer 
than  for  that  object ;  and  that  the  first  glimpse  of  next  day's 
sun  should  see  him  many  miles  advanced  toward  Dumbarton. 
He  descended  the  path,  therefore,  and  entering  the  cottage,  he 
communicated,  in  a  hasty  and  troubled  voice,  which  indicated 
mental  agitation,  his  determination  to  take  his  instant  depart- 
ure. Somewhat  to  his  surprise  Elspat  appeared  not  to  combat 
his  purpose,  but  she  urged  him  to  take  some  refreshment  ere 
he  left  her  forever.  He  did  so  hastily,  and  in  silence,  think- 
ing on  the  approaching  separation,  and  scarce  yet  believing  it 
would  take  place  without  a  final  struggle  with  his  mother's 
fondness.  To  his  surprise  she  filled  the  quaigh  with  liquor  for 
his  parting  cup. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "  my  son,  since  such  is  thy  settled  purpose  ; 
but  first  stand  once  more  on  thy  mother's  hearth,  the  flame  on 
which  will  be  extinguished  long  ere  thy  foot  shall  again  be 
placed  there." 

"To  your  health,  mother!"  said  Hamish,  "and  may  we 
meet  again  in  happiness,  in  spite  of  your  ominous  words." 

"  It  were  better  not  to  part,"  said  his  mother,  watching  him 
as  he  quaffed  the  liquor,  of  which  he  would  have  held  it  omi- 
nous to  have  left  a  drop. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  muttering  the  words  to  herself,  "go 
— if  thou  canst  go." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  as  he  replaced  on  the  table  the 
empty  quaigh,  "  thy  drink  is  pleasant  to  the  taste,  but  it  takes 
away  the  strength  which  it  ought  to  give." 

*•  Such  is  its  first  effect,  my  son,"  replied  Elspat ;  "  but  \\q^ 


94 


THE  HICHLAiVD  IVIDOIV. 


down  upon  that  soft  heather  couch,  shut  your  eyes  but  for  a 
moment,  and,  in  the  sleep  of  an  hour,  you  shall  have  more  re- 
freshment than  in  the  ordinary  repose  of  three  wh,ole  nights, 
could  they  be  blended  into  one." 

*'  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  upon  whose  brain  the  potion  was 
now  taking  rapid  effect,  "  give  me  my  bonnet — I  must  kiss 
you  and  begone — yet  it  seems  as  if  my  feet  were  nailed  to  the 
floor." 

"  Indeed,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  will  be  instantly  well,  if 
you  will  sitdown  for  half-an-hour — but  half-an-hour  ;  it  is  eight 
hours  to  dawn,  and  dawn  were  time  enough  for  your  father's 
son  to  begin  such  a  journey." 

"  I  must  obey,  you  mother — I  feel  I  must,"  said  Hamish 
inaticulately  ;  "  but  call  me  when  the  moon  rises." 

He  sat  down  on  the  bed — reclined  back,  and  almost  instantly 
was  fast  asleep.  With  the  throbbing  glee  of  one  who  has  brought 
to  an  end  a  difficult  and  troublesome  enterprise,  Elspat  proceeded 
tenderly  to  arrange  the  plaid  of  the  unconscious  slumberer,  to 
whom  her  extravagant  affection  was  doomed  to  be  so  fatal,  ex- 
pressing, while  busied  in  her  office,  her  delight,  in  tones  of 
mingled  tenderness  and  triumph.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  calf  of  my 
heart,  the  moon  shall  arise  and  set  to  thee,  and  so  shall  the  sun, 
but  not  to  light  thee  from  the  land  of  thy  fathers,  or  tempt 
thee  to  serve  the  foreign  prince  or  the  feudal  enemy !  To  no 
son  of  Dermid  shall  I  be  delivered,  to  be  fed  like  a  bondswoman, 
but  he  who  is  my  pleasure  and  my  pride  shall  be  my  guard  and 
my  protector.  They  say  the  Highlands  are  changed  ;  but  I  see 
Ben  Cruachan  rear  his  crest  as  high  as  ever  into  the  evening 
sky — no  one  hath  yet  herded  his  kine  on  the  depth  of  Loch  Awe 
— and  yonder  oak  does  not  yet  bend  like  a  willow.  The  children 
of  the  mountains  will  be  such  as  their  fathers,  until  the  moun- 
tains themselves  shall  be  leveled  with  the  strath.  In  these 
wild  forests,  which  used  to  support  thousands  of  the  brave 
there  is  still  surely  subsistence  and  refuge  left  for  one  aged 
woman,  and  one  gallant  youth,  of  the  ancient  race  and  the 
ancient  manners," 

While  the  misjudging  mother  thus  exulted  in  the  success  of 
her  stratagem,  we  may  mention  to  the  reader,  that  it  was  founded 
on  the  acquaintance  with  drugs  and  simples,  which  Elspat,  ac- 
complished in  all  things  belonging  to  the  wild  life  which  she 
had  led,  possessed  in  an  uncommon  degree,  and  which  she 
exercised  for  various  purposes.  With  the  herbs,  which  she 
knew  how  to  select  as  well  as  how  to  distil,  she  could  relieve 
more  diseases  than  a  regular  medical  person  could  easily  be- 
lieve.    She  applied  some  to  dye  the  bright  colors  of  the  tartan 


THE  HIGHLAXD    WIDOW. 


95 


■ — from  others  she  compounded  draughts  of  various  powers, 
and  unhappily  possessed  the  secret  of  one  which  was  strongly 
soporific.  Upon  the  effects  of  this  last  concoction,  as  the 
reader  doubtless  has  anticipated,  she  reckoned  with  security  on 
delaying  Haniish  beyond  the  period  for  which  his  return  was 
appointed  ;  and  she  trusted  to  his  horror  for  the  apprehended 
punishment  to  which  he  was  thus  rendered  liable,  to  prevent 
him  from  returning  at  all. 

Sound  and  deep,  beyond  natural  rest,  was  the  sleep  of 
Hamish  McTavish  on  that  eventful  evening,  but  not  such  the 
repose  of  his  mother.  Scarce  did  she  close  her  eyes  from  time 
to  time,  but  she  awakened  again  with  a  start,  in  the  terror  that 
her  son  had  arisen  and  departed  ;  and  it  was  only  on  approach- 
ing his  couch,  and  hearing  his  deep-drawn  and  regular  breath- 
ing, that  she  reassured  herself  of  the  security  of  the  repose  in 
which  he  was  plunged. 

Still,  dawning,  she  feared,  might  awaken  him,  notwithstand- 
ing the  unusual  strength  of  the  potion  with  which  she  had 
drugged  his  cup.  If  there  remained  a  hope  of  mortal  man 
accomplishing  the  journey,  she  was  aware  that  Hamish  would 
attempt  it,  though  he  were  to  die  from  fatigue  upon  the  road. 
Animated  by  this  new  fear,  she  studied  to  exclude  the  light  by 
stopping  all  the  crannies  and  crevices  through  which,  rather 
than  through  any  regular  entrance,  the  morning  beams  might 
find  access  to  her  miserable  dwelling ;  and  this  in  order  to  de- 
tain amid  its  wants  and  wretchedness  the  being,  on  whom,  if 
the  world  itself  had  been  at  her  disposal,  she  would  have  joy- 
fully conferred  it. 

Her  pains  were  bestowed  unnecessarily.  The  sun  rose  high 
above  the  heavens,  and  not  the  fleetest  stag  in  Breadalbane, 
were  the  hounds  at  his  heels,  could  have  sped  to  save  his  life, 
so  fast  as  would  have  been  necessary  to  keep  Hamish's  appoint- 
ment. Her  purpose  was  fully  attained — her  son's  return  within 
the  period  assigned  was  impossible.  She  deemed  it  equally 
impossible,  that  he  would  ever  dream  of  returning,  standing,  as 
he  must  now  do,  in  the  danger  of  an  infamous  punishment. 
By  degrees,  and  at  different  times,  she  had  gained  from  him  a 
full  acquaintance  with  the  predicament  in  which  he  would  be 
placed  by  failing  to  appear  on  the  dav  appointed,  and  the  very 
small  hope  he  could  entertain  of  being  treated  with  lenitv.  It 
is  well-known  that  the  great  and  wise  Earl  of  Chatham  prided 
himself  on  the  scheme,  by  which  he  drew  together,  for  the 
defence  of  the  colonies,  those  hardy  Highlanders,  who,  until  his 
time,  had  been  the  objects  of  doubt,  fear,  and  suspicion,  on  the 
part  of  each  successive  administration.     But  some  obstacles 


^6  THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

occurred,  from  the  peculiar  habits  and  temper  of  this  people,  to 
the  execution  of  his  patriotic  project.  By  nature  and  habit, 
every  Highlander  was  accustomed  to  the  use  of  arms,  but  at  the 
same  time  totally  unaccustomed  to,  and  impatient  of,  the  le- 
straints  imposed  by  discipline  upon  regular  troops.  They  were 
a  species  of  militia,  who  had  no  conception  of  a  camp  as  their 
only  home.  If  a  battle  was  lost,  they  dispersed  to  save  them 
selves,  and  look  out  for  the  safety  of  their  families  ;  if  won. 
they  went  back  to  their  glens  to  hoard  up  their  booty,  and 
attend  to  their  cattle  and  their  farms.  This  privilege  of  going 
and  coming  at  pleasure,  they  would  not  be  deprived  of  even  by 
their  Chiefs,  whose  authority  was  in  most  other  respects  so 
despotic.  It  followed  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  new-levied 
Highland  recruits  could  scarce  be  made  to  comprehend  the 
nature  of  a  military  engagement,  which  compelled  a  man  to  ser^'e 
in  the  army  longer  than  he  pleased  ;  and  perhaps,  in  many  in- 
stances, sufficient  care  was  not  taken  at  enlisting  to  explain  to 
them  the  permanency  of  the  engagement  which  they  came  under, 
lest  such  a  disclosure  should  induce  them  to  change  their  mind. 
Desertions  were  therefore  become  numerous  from  the  newly- 
raised  regiment,  and  the  veteran  General  who  commanded  at 
Dumbarton  saw  no  better  way  of  checking  them  than  by  causing 
an  unusually  severe  example  to  be  made  of  a  deserter  from  an 
English  corps.  The  young  Highland  regiment  was  obliged  to 
attend  upon  the  punishment,  which  struck  a  people  peculiarly 
jealous  of  personal  honor,  with  equal  horror  and  disgust,  and 
not  unnaturally  indisposed  some  of  them  to  the  service.  The 
old  General,  however,  who  had  been  regularly  bred  in  the 
German  wars,  stuck  to  his  own  opinion,  and  gave  out  in  orders 
that  the  first  Highlander  who  might  either  desert  or  fail  to 
appear  at  the  expiry  of  his  furlough,  should  be  brought  to  the 
halberds  and  punished  like  the  culprit  whom  they  had  seen  in 

that  condition.     No  man  doubted  that    General  would 

keep  his  word  rigorously  whenever  severity  was  required,  and 
Elspat,  therefore,  knew  that  her  son,  when  he  perceived  that 
due  compliance  with  his  orders  was  impossible,  must  at  the  same 
time  consider  the  degrading  punishment  denounced  against  his 
defection  as  inevitable,  should  he  place  himself  within  the 
General's  power.* 

When  noon  was  well  passed,  new  apprehensions  came  on  the 
mind  of  the  lonely  woman.  Her  son  still  slept  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  draught ;  but  what  if,  being  stronger  than  she  had 
ever  known  it  administered,  his  health  or  his  reason  should  be 

•  Note  F.     Fidelity  of  the  Highlanders. 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  97 

affected  by  its  potency  !  For  the  first  time,  likewise,  notwith- 
standing her  high  ideas  on  the  subject  of  paternal  authority, 
she  began  to  dread  the  resentment  of  her  son,  whom  her  heart 
told  her  she  had  wronged.  Of  late,  she  had  obser\'ed  that  his 
temper  was  less  docile,  and  his  determinations,  especially  upon 
this  late  occasion  of  his  enlistment,  independently  formed,  and 
then  boldly  carried  through.  She  remembered  the  stern  wil- 
fulness of  his  father  when  he  accounted  himself  ill-used,  and 
began  to  dread  that  Hamish,  upon  finding  the  deceit  she  had  put 
upon  him,  might  resent  it  even  to  the  extent  of  casting  her  off, 
and  pursuing  his  own  course .  through  the  world  alone.  Such 
were  the  alarming  and  yet  the  reasonable  apprehensions  which 
began  to  crowd  upon  the  unfortunate  woman,  after  the  apparent 
success  of  her  ill-advised  stratagem. 

It  was  near  evening  when  Hamish  first  awoke,  and  then  he 
was  far  from  being  in  the  full  possession  either  of  his  mental  or 
bodily  powers.  From  his  vague  expressions  and  disordered 
pulse,  Elspat  at  first  experienced  much  apprehension  ;  but  she 
used  such  expedients  as  her  medical  knowledge  suggested  ;  and 
in  the  course  of  the  night,  she  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  him 
sink  once  more  into  a  deep  sleep,  which  probably  carried  off  the 
greater  part  of  the  effects  of  the  drug,  for  about  sunrising  she 
heard  him  arise,  and  call  to  her  for  his  bonnet.  This  she  had 
purposely  removed,  from  a  fear  that  he  might  awaken  and  depart 
in  the  night-time,  without  her  knowledge. 

"  My  bonnet — my  bonnet,"  cried  Hamish,  "  it  is  time  to  take 
farewell.  Mother,  your  drink  was  too  strong^the  sun  is  up — 
but  with  the  next  morning  I  will  still  see  the  double  summit  of 
the  ancient  Dun.  My  bonnet — my  bonnet !  mother,  I  must  be 
instant  in  my  departure."  These  expressions  made  it  plain  that 
poor  Hamish  was  unconscious  that  two  nights  and  a  day  had 
passed  since  he  had  drained  the  fatal  quaigh,  and  Elsj^at  had 
now  to  venture  on  what  she  felt  as  the  almost  perilous,  as 
well  as  painful  task,  of  explaining  her  machinations. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  son,"  she  said,  approaching  Hamish,  and 
taking  him  by  the  hand  with  an  air  of  deferential  awe,  which 
perhaps  she  had  not  always  used  to  his  father,  even  when  in  his 
moody  fits. 

"  Forgive  you,  mother — for  what  ?  "  said  Hamish,  laughing  ; 
"  for  giving  me  a  dram  that  was  too  strong,  and  which  my  head 
still  feels  this  morning,  or  for  hiding  my  bonnet  to  keep  me  an 
instant  longer  ?  Nay,  do  you  forgive  me.  Give  me  the  bonnet, 
and  let  that  be  done  which  now  must  be  done.  Give  me  my 
bonnet,  or  I  go  without  it ;  surely  I  am  not  to  be  delayed  by  so 
trifling  a  want  as  that — I,  who  have  gone  for  years  with  only  a 


9S 


TJIE  JUG HL AND  WIDOW. 


strap  of  deer's  hide  to  tie  back  my  hair.  Trifle  not,  but  give  il 
me,  or  I  must  go  bareheaded,  since  to  stay  is  impossible." 

"  My  son,"  said  Elspat,  keeping  fast  hold  of  his  hand,  "  what 
is  done  cannot  be  recalled  ;  could  you  borrow  the  wings  of 
yonder  eagle,  you  would  arrive  at  the  Dun  too  late  for  what  you 
purpose, — too  soon  for  what  awaits  you  there.  You  believe  you 
see  the  sun  rising  for  the  first  time  since  you  have  seen  him  set, 
but  yesterday  beheld  him  climb  Ben  Cruachan,  though  your  eyes 
were  closed  to  his  light." 

Hamish  cast  upon  his  mother  a  wild  glance  of  extreme  terror, 
then,  instantly  recovering  himself,  said — "  I  am  no  child  to  be 
cheated  out  of  my  purpose  by  such  tricks  as  these — Farewell, 
mother,  each  moment  is  worth  a  lifetime." 

"  Stay,"  she  said,  "  my  dear — my  deceived  son  !  rush  not  on 
infamy  and  ruin — Yonder  I  see  the  priest  upon  the  highroad  on 
his  white  horse — ask  him  the  day  of  the  month  and  week — let 
him  decide  between  us." 

With  the  speed  of  an  eagle,  Hamish  darted  up  the  acclivity 
and  stood  by  the  minister  of  Glenorquhy,  who  was  pacing  out 
thus  early  to  administer  consolation  to  a  distressed  family  near 
Bunawe. 

The  good  man  was  somewhat  startled  to  behold  an  armed 
Highlander — then  so  unusual  a  sight,  and  apparently  much 
agitated — stop  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  ask  him  with  a  falter- 
ing voice  the  day  of  the  week  and  month.  "  Had  you  been 
where  you  should  have  been  yesterday,  young  man,"  replied  the 
clergyman,  "  you  would  have  known  that  it  was  God's  Sabbath  ; 
and  that  this  is  Monday,  the  second  day  of  the  week,  and  twenty- 
first  of  the  month." 

"  And  is  this  true  ?  "  said  Hamish. 

"  As  true,"  answered  the  surprised  minister,  "  as  that  I  yes- 
terday preached  the  word  of  God  to  this  parish. — ^What  ails  you, 
young  man  ? — are  you  sick  ? — are  you  in  your  right  mind  ?  " 

Hamish  made  no  answer,  only  repeated  to  himself  the  first 
expression  of  the  clergyman — "  Had  you  been  where  you 
should  have  been  yesterday  ;  "  and  so  saying,  he  let  go  the 
bridle,  turned  from  the  road,  and  descended  the  path  toward 
the  hut,  with  the  look  and  pace  of  one  who  was  going  to 
execution.  The  minister  looked  after  him  with  surprise  ;  but 
although  he  knew  the  inhabitant  of  the  hovel,  the  character  of 
Elspat  had  not  invited  him  to  open  any  communication  with 
her,  because  she  was  generally  reputed  a  Papist,  or  rather 
one  indifferent  to  all  religion,  except  some  superstitious  ob- 
servances which  had  been  handed  down  from  her  parents. 
On  Hamish  the   Reverend   Mr.   Tyrie  had   bestowed  instruo 


THE  mcHLAND   WIDOW. 


99 


tions  when  he  was  occasionally  thrown  in  his  way,  and  if  the 
seed  fell  among  the  brambles  and  thorns  of  a  wild  and  un- 
cultivated disposition,  it  had  not  yet  been  entirely  checked  or 
destroyed.  There  was  something  so  ghastly  in  the  present 
expression  of  the  youth's  features,  that  the  good  man  was 
tempted  to  go  down  to  the  hovel,  and  inquire  whether  any  dis- 
tress had  befallen  the  inhabitants,  in  which  his  presence  might 
be  consoling,  and  his  ministry  useful.  Unhappily  he  did  not 
persevere  in  this  resolution,  which  might  have  saved  a  great 
misfortune,  as  he  would  have  probably  become  a  mediator  for 
the  unfortunate  young  man  ;  but  a  recollection  of  the  wild 
moods  of  such  Highlanders  as  had  been  educated  after  the  old 
fashion  of  the  country,  prevented  his  interesting  himself  in  the 
widow  and  son  of  the  far-dreaded  robber,  MacTavish  Mhor  ; 
and  he  thus  missed  an  opportunity,  which  he  afterward  sorely 
repented,  of  doing  much  good. 

When  Haniish  MacTavish  entered  his  mother's  hut,  it  was 
only  to  throw  himself  on  the  bed  he  had  left,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Undone,  undone  ;  "  to  give  vent,  in  cries  of  grief  and  anger,  to 
his  deep  sense  of  the  deceit  which  had  been  practiced  on  him, 
and  of  the  cruel  predicament  to  which  he  was  reduced. 

Elspat  was  prepared  for  the  first  explosion  of  her  son's 
passion,  and  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  but  the  mountain  torrent, 
swelled  by  the  thunder  shower.  Let  us  sit  and  rest  us  by  the 
bank  ;  for  all  its  present  tumult,  the  time  will  soon  come 
when  we  may  pass  it  dryshod."  She  suffered  his  complaints 
and  his  reproaches,  which  were,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  agony, 
respectful  and  affectionate,  to  die  away  without  returning  any 
answer  ;  and  when,  at  length,  having  exhausted  all  the  ex- 
clamations of  sorrow  which  his  language,  copious  in  expressing 
the  feelings  of  the  heart,  affords  to  the  sufferer,  he  sunk  into  a 
gloomy  silence,  she  suffered  the  interval  to  continue  near  an 
hour  ere  she  approached  her  son's  couch. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  at  length,  with  a  voice  in  which  the 
authority  of  the  mother  was  qualified  by  her  tenderness,  "  have 
you  exhausted  your  idle  sorrows,  and  are  you  able  to  place 
what  you  have  gained  against  what  you  have  lost  .''  Is  the 
false  son  of  Dermid  your  brother,  or  the  father  of  your  tribe, 
that  you  weep  because  you  cannot  bind  yourself  to  his  belt, 
and  become  one  of  those  who  must  do  his  bidding  .-'  Could  you 
find  in  yonder  distant  country  the  lakes  and  the  mountains 
that  you  leave  behind  you  here  ?  Can  you  hunt  the  deer  of 
Breadalbane  in  the  forests  of  America,  or  will  the  ocean  afford 
you   the  silver-scaled  salmon  of  the   Awe  ?     Consider    then, 


100  THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 

what  is  your  loss,  and,  like  a  wise  man,  set  it  against  what  you 
have  won." 

"  I  have  lost  all,  mother,"  replied  Hamish,  "  since  I  liave 
broken  my  word  and  lost  my  honor.  I  might  tell  my  tale,  bat 
who,  oh,  who  would  believe  me  ?  "  The  unfortunate  young 
man  again  clasped  his  hands  together,  and  pressing  them  to  his 
forehead,  hid  his  face  upon  the  bed. 

Elspat  was  now  really  alarmed,  and  perhaps  wished  the  fatal 
deceit  had  been  left  unattempted.  She  had  no  hope  or  refuge 
saving  in  the  eloquence  of  persuasion,  of  which  she  possessed 
no  small  share,  though  her  total  ignorance  of  the  world,  as  it 
actually  existed,  rendered  its  energy  unavailing.  She  urged 
her  son,  by  every  tender  epithet  w^hich  a  parent  could  bestow, 
to  take  care  for  his  own  safety. 

"  Leave  me,"  she  said,  "  to  baffle  your  pursuers.  I  will  save 
your  life — I  will  save  your  honor — I  will  tell  them  that  my 
fair-haired  Hamish  fell  from  the  Corrie  dhu  (black  precipice) 
into  the  gulf,  of  which  human  eye  never  beheld  the  bottom, 
I  will  tell  them  this,  and  I  will  fling  your  plaid  on  the  thorns 
which  grow  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  that  they  may  believe 
my  words.  They  will  believe,  and  they  will  return  to  the  Dun 
of  the  double-crest ;  for  though  the  Saxon  drum  can  call  the 
living  to  die,  it  cannot  recall  the  dead  to  their  slavish  standard. 
Then  will  we  travel  together  far  northward  to  the  salt  lakes  of 
Kintail,  and  place  glens  and  mountains  betwixt  us  and  the  sons 
of  Dermid.  We  will  visit  the  shores  of  the  dark  lake,  and  my 
kinsmen — (for  was  not  my  mother  of  the  children  of  Kenneth, 
and  will  they  not  remember  us  with  the  old  love  .'') — my  kins- 
men will  receive  us  with  the  affection  of  the  olden  time,  which 
lives  in  those  distant  glens,  where  the  Gael  still  dwell  in  their 
nobleness,  unmingled  with  the  churl  Saxons,  or  with  the  base 
brood  that  are  their  tools  and  their  slaves." 

The  energy  of  the  language,  somewhat  allied  to  hyperbole, 
even  in  its  most  ordinary  expressions,  now  seemed  almost  too 
weak  to  afford  Elspat  the  means  of  bringing  out  the  splendid 
picture  which  she  presented  to  her  son  of  the  land  in  which  she 
proposed  to  him  to  take  refuge.  Yet  the  colors  were  few  with 
which  she  could  paint  her  Highland  paradise.  "  The  hills," 
she  said,  "  were  higher  and  more  magnificent  than  those  of 
Breadalbane — Ben  Cruachan  was  but  a  dwarf  to  Skooroora. 
The  lakes  were  broader  and  larger,  and  bounded  not  only  with 
fish,  but  with  the  enchanted  and  amphibious  animal  which 
gives  oil  to  the  lamp.*     The  deer  were  larger  and  more  numer- 

*  The  seals  are  considered  by  the  Highlanders  as  enchanted  princes. 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  lOi 

ous — the  white-tusked  boar,  the  chase  of  which  the  brave  loved 
best,  was  yet  to  be  roused  in  those  western  solitudes — the  men 
were  nobler,  wiser,  and  stronger,  than  the  degenerate  brood 
who  lived  under  the  Saxon  banner.  The  daughters  of  the  land 
were  beautiful,  with  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair,  and  bosoms  of 
snow,  and  out  of  these  she  would  choose  a  wife  for  Hamish,  of 
blameless  descent,  spotless  fame,  fixed  and  true  affection,  who 
should  be  in  their  summer  bothy  as  a  beam  of  the  sun,  and  in 
their  winter  abode  as  the  warmth  of  the  needful  fire. 

Such  were  the  topics  with  which  Elspat  strove  to  soothe  the 
despair  of  her  son,  and  to  determine  him,  if  possible,  to  leave 
the  fatal  spot,  on  which  he  seemed  resolved  to  linger.  The 
style  of  her  rhetoric  was  poetical,  but  in  other  respects 
resembled  that  which,  like  other  fond  mothers,  she  had  lavished 
on  Hamish,  while  a  child  or  a  boy,  in  order  to  gain  his  consent 
to  do  something  he  had  no  mind  to  ;  and  she  spoke  louder, 
quicker,  and  more  earnestly,  in  proportion  as  she  began  to  de- 
spair of  her  words  carrying  conviction. 

On  the  mind  of  Hamish  her  eloquence  made  no  impression. 
He  knew  far  better  than  she  did  the  actual  situation  of  the 
country,  and  was  sensible,  that,  though  it  might  be  possible  to 
hide  himself  as  a  fugitive  among  more  distant  mountains,  there 
was  now  no  corner  in  the  Highlands  in  which  his  father's  pro- 
fession could  be  practiced,  even  if  he  had  not  adopted,  from  the 
improved  ideas  of  the  time  when  he  lived,  the  opinion,  that  the 
trade  of  the  cateran  was  no  longer  the  road  to  honor  and  dis- 
tinction. Her  words  were  therefore  poured  into  regardless  ears, 
and  she  exhausted  herself  in  vain  in  the  attempt  to  paint  the 
regions  of  her  mother's  kinsmen  in  such  terms  as  might  tempt 
Hamish  to  accompany  her  thither.  She  spoke  for  hours,  but 
she  spoke  in  vain.  She  could  extort  no  answer,  save  groans, 
and  sighs,  and  ejaculations,  expressing  the  extremity  of  despair. 

At  length,  starting  on  her  feet,  and  changing  the  monoton- 
ous tone  in  which  she  had  chanted,  as  it  were,  the  praises  of  the 
province  of  refuge,  into  the  short,  stern  language  of  eager  pas- 
sion— "  I  am  a  fool,"  she  said,  "  to  spend  my  words  upon  an 
idle,  poor-spirited,  unintelligent  boy,  who  crouches  like  a  hound 
to  the  lash.  Wait  here,  and  receive  your  taskmasters,  and  abide 
your  chastisement  at  their  hands  ;  but  do  not  think  your  mother's 
eyes  will  behold  it.  I  could  not  see  it  and  live.  My  eyes  have 
looked  often  upon  death,  but  never  upon  dishonor.  Farewell, 
Hamish  ! — We  never  meet  again." 

She  dashed  from  the  hut  like  a  lapwing,  and  perhaps  for  the 
moment  actually  entertained  the  purpose  which  she  expressed 
of  parting  with  her  son  forever.     A  fearful  sight   she  would 


102  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

have  been  that  evening  to  any  who  might  have  met  her  wan 
deling  through  the  wilderness  hke  a  restless  spirit,  and  speak- 
ing to  herself  in  language  which  will  endure  no  translation. 
She  rambled  for  hours,  seeking  rather  than  shunning  the  niost 
dangerous  paths.  The  precarious  track  through  the  morass, 
the  dizzy  path  along  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  or  by  the  banks 
of  the  gulfing  river,  were  the  roads  which,  far  from  avoiding, 
she  sought  with  eagerness,  and  traversed  with  reckless  haste. 
But  the  courage  arising  from  despair  was  the  means  of  saving 
the  life,  which  (though  deliberate  suicide  was  rarely  practiced 
in  the  Highlands)  she  was  perhaps  desirous  of  terminating. 
Her  step  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice  was  firm  as  that  of  the 
wild  goat.  Her  eye,  in  that  state  of  excitation,  was  so  keen  as 
to  discern,  even  amid  darkness,  the  perils  which  noon  would 
not  have  enabled  a  stranger  to  avoid. 

Elspat's  course  was  not  directly  forward,  else  she  had  soon 
been  far  from  the  bothy  in  which  she  had  left  her  son.  It  was 
circuitous,  for  that  hut  was  the  centre  to  which  her  heartstrings 
were  chained,  and  though  she  wandered  around  it,  she  felt  it 
impossible  to  leave  the  vicinity.  With  the  first  beams  of 
morning,  she  returned  to  the  hut.  A  while  she  paused  at  the 
wattled  door,  as  if  ashamed  that  lingering  fondness  should 
have  brought  her  back  to  the  spot  which  she  had  left  with  the 
purpose  of  never  returning;  but  there  was  yet  more  of  fear  and 
anxiety  in  her  hesitation — of  anxiety,  lest  her  fair-haired  son 
had  suffered  from  the  effects  of  her  potion — of  fear  lest  his 
enemies  had  come  upon  him  in  the  night.  She  opened  the 
door  of  the  hut  gently,  and  entered  with  noiseless  step.  Ex- 
hausted with  his  sorrow  and  anxiety,  and  not  entirely  relieved 
perhaps  from  the  influence  of  the  powerful  opiate,  Hamish  Baen 
again  slept  the  stern  sound  sleep,  by  which  the  Indians  are 
said  to  be  overcome  during  the  interval  of  their  torments.  His 
mother  was  scarcely  sure  that  she  actually  discerned  his  form 
on  the  bed,  scarce  certain  that  her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  his 
breathing.  With  a  throbbing  heart,  Elspat  went  to  the  fire- 
place in  the  centre  of  the  hut,  where  slumbered,  covered  with  a 
piece  of  turf,  the  glimmering  embers  of  the  fire,  never  ex- 
tinguished on  a  Scottish  hearih  until  the  indwellers  leave  the 
mansion  forever, 

"Feeble  greishogh,"*  she  said,  as  she  lighted,  by  the  help 
of  a  match,  a  splinter  of  bog  pine  which  was  to  serve  the  place 
of  a  candle  ;  "  weak  greishogh,  soon  shalt  thou  be  put  out  for- 
ever, and  may  Heaven  grant  that  the  life  of  Elspat  MacTavish 
have  no  longer  duration  than  thine  !  " 

*  Greishogh,  a  glowing  ember. 


THE  iJTGHLAMt)   WIDOW. 


103 


While  she  spoke  she  raised  the  blazing  light  toward  the 
bed,  on  which  still  lay  the  prostrate  limbs  of  her  son,  in  a 
posture  that  left  it  doubtful  whether  he  slept  or  swooned.  As 
she  advanced  toward  him,  the  light  flashed  upon  his  eyes — he 
started  up  in  an  instant,  made  a  stride  forward  with  his  naked 
dirk  in  his  hand,  like  a  man  armed  to  meet  a  mortal  enemy, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Stand  off! — on  thy  life,  stand  off!  " 

"  It  is  the  word  and  the  action  of  my  husband,"  answered 
Elspat ;  "  and  I  know  by  his  speech  and  his  step  the  son  of 
MacTavish  Mhor." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  relapsing  from  his  tone  of  des- 
perate firmness  into  one  of  melancholy  expostulation ;  "  oh, 
dearest  mother,  wherefore  have  you  returned  hither  ?  " 

"Ask  why  the  hind  comes  back  to  the  fawn,"  said  Elspat  ; 
"  why  the  cat  of  the  mountain  returns  to  her  lodge  and  her 
young.  Know  you,  Hamish,  that  the  heart  of  the  mother  only 
lives  in  the  bosom  of  the  child." 

"  Then  will  it  soon  cease  to  throb,"  said  Hamish,  "  unless  it 
can  beat  within  a  bosom  that  lies  beneath  the  turf. — Mother, 
do  not  blam.e  me  ;  if  I  weep,  it   is  not  for  myself,  but  for  you, 

for  my  sufferings  will  soon  be  over  ;  but  yours Oh,  who  but 

Heaven  shall  set  a  boundary  to  them  ! " 

Elspat  shuddered  and  stepped  backward,  but  almost  in- 
stantly resumed  her  firm  and  upright  position,  and  her  daunt- 
less bearing. 

"  1  thought  thou  wert  a  man  but  even  now,"  she  said,  "  and 
thou  art  again  a  child.  Hearken  to  me  yet,  and  let  us  leave 
this  place  together.  Have  I  done  thee  wrong  or  injury  t  if  so, 
yet  do  not  avenge  it  so  cruelly — See,  Elspat  MacTavish,  who 
never  kneeled  before  even  to  a  priest,  falls  prostrate  before  her 
son,  and  craves  his  forgiveness."  And  at  once  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  the  young  man,  seized  on  his  hand, 
and  kissing  it  a  hundred  times,  repeated  as  often,  in  heart- 
breaking accents,  the  most  earnest  entreaties  for  forgiveness. 
"  Pardon,"  she  exclaimed,  "  pardon,  for  the  sake  of  your 
father's  ashes — pardon,  for  the  sake  of  the  pain  with  which  I 
bore  thee,  the  care  with  which  I  nurtured  thee  ! — Hear  it, 
Heaven,  and  behold  it.  Earth — the  mother  asks  pardon  of  her 
child,  and  she  is  refused  !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  Hamish  endeavored  to  stem  this  tide  of 
passion,  by  assuring  his  mother,  with  the  most  solemn  asseve- 
rations, that  he  forgave  entirely  the  fatal  deceit  which  she  had 
practiced  upon  him. 

"  Empty  words,"  she  said  ;  "  idle  protestations,  which  are 
but  used  to  hide  the  obduracy  of  your  resentment.     Would  }ou 


104 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


have  me  believe  you,  then  leave  the  hut  this  instant,  and  retire 
from  a  country  which  every  hour  renders  more  dangerous — Do 
this,  and  I  may  think  you  have  forgiven  me — refuse  it,  and  again 
I  call  on  moon  and  stars,  heaven  and  earth,  to  witness  the 
unrelenting  resentment  with  which  you  prosecute  your  mother 
for  a  fault,  which,  if  it  be  one,  arose  out  of  love  to  you," 

"  Mother,"  said  Hamish,  "  on  this  subject  you  move  me  not. 
I  will  fly  before  no  man.  If  Barcaldine  should  send  every  Gael 
that  is  under  his  banner,  here,  and  in  this  place,  will  I  abide 
them  ;  and  when  you  bid  me  fly,  you  may  as  well  command 
yonder  mountain  to  be  loosened  from  its  foundations.  Had  I 
been  sure  of  the  road  by  which  they  are  coming  hither,  I  had 
spared  them  the  pains  of  seeking  me  ;  but  I  might  go  by  the 
mountain,  while  they  perchance  came  by  the  lake.  Here  I  will 
abide  my  fate  ;  nor  is  there  in  Scotland  a  voice  of  power  enough 
to  bid  me  stir  from  hence,  and  be  obeyed." 

"  Here,  then,  I  also  stay,"  said  Elspat,  rising  up  and  speak- 
ing with  assumed  composure.  "  I  have  seen  my  husband's 
death — my  eyelids  shall  not  grieve  to  look  on  the  fall  of  my  son. 
But  MacTavish  Mhor  died  as  became  the  brave,  with  his  good 
sword  in  his  right  hand  ;  my  son  will  perish  like  the  bullock 
that  is  driven  to  the  shambles  by  the  Saxon  owner,  who  has 
bought  him  for  a  price." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  unhappy  young  man,  "  you  have  taken 
my  life  ;  to  that  you  have  a  right,  for  you  gave  it ;  but  touch 
not  my  honor !  It  came  to  me  from  a  brave  train  of  ancestors 
and  should  be  sullied  neither  by  man's  deed  nor  woman's 
speech.  What  I  shall  do,  perhaps  I  myself  yet  know  not ; 
but  tempt  me  no  further  by  reproachful  words  ;  you  have  already 
made  wounds  more  than  you  can  ever  heal." 

"  It  is  well,  my  son,"  said  Elspat,  in  reply.  "  Expect  neither 
further  complaint  nor  remonstrance  from  me  ;  but  let  us  be 
silent,  and  wait  the  chance  which  Heaven  shall  send  us.'' 

The  sun  arose  on  the  next  morning,  and  found  the  bothy 
silent  as  the  grave.  The  mother  and  son  had  arisen,  and  were 
engaged  each  in  their  separate  task — Hamish  in  preparing  and 
cleaning  his  arms  with  the  greatest  accuracy,  but  with  an  air  of 
deep  dejection.  Elspat,  more  restless  in  her  agony  of  spirit, 
employed  herself  in  making  ready  the  food  which  the  distress 
of  yesterday  had  induced  them  both  to  dispense  with  for  an  un- 
usual number  of  hours.  She  placed  it  on  the  board  before  hex 
son  so  soon  as  it  was  prepared,  with  the  words  of  a  Gaelic  poet, 
"  Without  daily  food,  the  husbandman's  ploughshare  stands  still 
in  the  furrow  ;  without  daily  food,  the  sword  of  the  warrior  is 
too  heavy  for  his  hand.     Our  bodies  are  our  slaves,  yet  they 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  1 05 

must  be  fed  if  we  would  have  their  service.  So  spake,  in  ancient 
days,  the  Blind  Bard  to  the  warriors  of  Fion." 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  but  he  fed  on  what  was 
placed  before  him,  as  if  to  gather  strength  for  the  scene  which 
he  was  to  undergo.  When  his  mother  saw  that  he  had  eaten 
what  sufficed  him,  she  again  filled  the  fatal  quaigh,  and  proffered 
it  as  the  conclusion  of  the  repast.  But  he  started  aside  with  a 
convulsive  gesture,  expressive  at  once  of  fear  and  abhor- 
rence. 

"  Nay,  my  son,"  she  said  ;  "  this  time,  surely,  thou  hast  no 
cause  of  fear." 

"Urge  me  not,  mother,"  answered  Hamish  ;  "or  put  the 
leprous  toad  into  the  flagon,  and  I  will  drink  ;  but  from  that 
accursed  cup,  and  of  that  mind  destroying  potion,  never  will  I 
taste  more  !  " 

"  At  your  pleasure,  my  son,"  said  Elspat,  haughtily;  and 
began,  with  much  apparent  assiduity,  the  various  domestic  tasks 
which  had  been  interrupted  during  the  preceding  day.  What- 
ever was  at  her  heart,  all  anxiety  seemed  banished  from  her 
looks  and  demeanor.  It  was  but  from  an  over-activity  of  bus- 
tling exertion  that  it  might  have  been  perceived,  by  a  close 
observer,  that  her  actions  were  spurred  by  some  internal  cause 
of  painful  excitement ;  and  such  a  spectator,  too,  might  also 
have  observed  how  often  she  broke  off  the  snatches  of  songs  or 
tunes  which  she  hummed,  apparently  without  knowing  what  she 
was  doing,  in  order  to  cast  a  hasty  glance  from  the  door  of  the 
hut.  Whatever  might  be  in  the  mind  of  Hamish,  his  demeanor 
was  directly  the  reverse  of  that  adopted  by  his  mother.  Hav- 
ing finished  the  task  of  cleaning  and  preparing  his  arms  which 
he  arranged  within  the  hut,  he  sat  himself  down  before  the 
door  of  the  bothy,  and  watched  the  opposite  hill,  like  the 
fixed  sentinel  who  expects  the  approach  of  an  enemy.  Noon 
found  him  in  the  same  unchanged  posture,  and  it  was  an  hour 
after  that  period,  when  his  mother,  standing  beside  him,  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  tone  indifferent,  as  if 
she  had  been  talking  of  some  friendly  visit,  "  When  dost  thou 
expect  them  ?  " 

"  They  cannot  be  here  till  the  shadows  fall  long  to  the  east- 
ward," replied  Hamish ;  "  that  is,  even  supposing  the  nearest 
party,  commanded  by  Sergeant  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  has  been 
commanded  hither  by  express  from  Dumbarton,  as  it  is  most 
likely  they  will." 

"  Then  enter  beneath  your  mother's  roof  once  more  ;  partake 
the  last  time  of  the  food  which  she  has  prepared  ;  after  this,  let 
them  come,  and  thou  shalt  see  if  thy  mother  is  a  useless  en- 


io6  THE  HIGHLAXD    WIDOW. 

cumbrance  in  the  clay  of  strife.  Thy  hand,  practiced  as  it  is, 
cannot  fire  these  arms  so  fast  as  I  can  load  them  ;  nay,  if  it  is 
necessary,  I  do  not  myself  fear  the  flash  or  the  report,  and  my 
aim  has  been  held  fatal." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  mother,  meddle  not  with  this 
matter!  "  said  Hamish,  "  Allan  Breack  is  a  wise  man  and  a 
kindon«,  and  comes  of  a  good  stem.  It  may  be,  he  can  promise 
for  our  officers,  that  they  will  touch  me  with  no  infamous  pun- 
ishment ;  and  if  they  offer  me  continement  in  the  dungeon,  or 
death  by  the  musket,  to  that  I  may  not  object." 

"  Alas  !  and  wilt  thou  trust  to  their  word,  my  fooli-sh  child  ? 
Remember  the  race  of  Dermid  were  ever  fair  and  false,  and  no 
sooner  shall  they  have  gyves  on  thy  hands,  than  they  will  strip 
thy  shoulders  for  the  scourge." 

"  Save  your  advice,  mother,"  said  Hamish  sternly  ;  "  for  me, 
my  mind  is  made  up." 

But  though  he  spoke  thus,  to  escape  the  almost  persecuting 
urgency  of  his  mother,  Hamish  would  have  found  it,  at  that 
moment,  impossible  to  say  upon  what  course  of  conduct  he  had 
thus  fixed.  On  one  point  alone  he  was  determined,  namely,  to 
abide  his  destiny,  be  what  it  might,  and  not  to  add  to  the  breach 
of  his  word,  of  which  he  had  been  involuntarily  rendered  guilty, 
by  attempting  to  escape  from  punishment.  This  act  of  self- 
devotion  he  conceived  to  be  due  to  his  own  honor  and  that  of 
his  countrymen.  Which  of  his  comrades  would  in  future  be 
trusted,  if  he  should  be  considered  as  having  broken  his  word, 
and  betrayed  the  confidence  of  his  officers  .-'  and  whom  but 
Hamish  Baen  ISIacTavish  would  the  Gael  accuse,  for  having  veri- 
fied and  confirmed  the  suspicions  which  the  Saxon  general  was 
well  known  to  entertain  against  the  good  faith  of  the  High- 
landers ?  He  was,  therefore,  bent  firmly  to  abide  his  fate.  But 
whether  his  intention  was  to  yield  himself  peaceably  into  the 
hands  of  the  party  who  should  come  to  apprehend  him,  or 
whether  he  purposed,  by  a  show  of  resistance,  to  provoke  them 
to  kill  him  on  the  spot,  was  a  question  which  he  could  not  him- 
self have  answered.  His  desire  to  see  Barcaldine,  and  explain 
the  cause  of  his  absence  at  the  appointed  time,  urged  him  to 
the  one  course  ;  his  fear  of  the'  degrading  punishment,  and  of 
his  mother's  bitter  upbraidings,  strongly  instigated  the  latter  and 
the  more  dangerous  purpose.  He  left  it  to  chance  to  decide 
when  the  crisis  should  arrive  ;  nor  did  he  tarry  long  in  expec- 
tation of  the  catastrophe. 

Evening  approached,  the  gigantic  shadows  of  the  mountains 
streamed  in  darkness  toward  the  east,  while  their  western 
peaks  were  still  glowing  with  crimson  and  gold.  The  road  which 


THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW. 


107 


winds  round  Ben  Cruachan  was  fully  visible  from  the  door  of 
the  bothy,  when  a  party  of  five  Highland  soldiers,  whose  arms 
glanced  in  the  sun,  wheeled  suddenly  into  sight  from  the  most 
distant  extremity  where  the  highway  is  hidden  behind  the 
mountain.  One  of  the  party  walked  a  little  before  the  other 
four,  who  marched  regularly  and  in  files,  according  to  the  rules 
of  military  discipline.  There  was  no  dispute,  from  the  firelocks 
which  they  carried,  and  the  plaids  and  bonnets  which  they 
wore,  that  they  were  a  party  of  Hamish's  regiment,  under  a 
non-commissioned  officer  ;  and  there  could  be  as  little  doubt  of 
the  purpose  of  their  appearance  on  the  banks  of  Loch  Awe. 

"  They  come  briskly  forward,"  said  the  widow  of  MacTavish 
Mhor, — "  I  wonder  how  fast  or  how  slow  some  of  them  will 
return  again !  But  they  are  five,  and  it  is  too  much  odds  for  a 
fair  field.  Step  back,  within  the  hut,  my  son,  and  shoot  from 
the  loophole  beside  the  door.  Two  you  may  bring  down  ere 
they  quit  the  high-road  for  the  footpath — there  will  remain  but 
three  ;  and  your  father,  with  my  aid,  has  often  stood  against 
that  number," 

Hamish  Baen  took  the  gun  which  his  mother  offered,  but 
did  not  stir  from  the  door  of  the  hut.  He  was  soon  visible  to  the 
party  on  the  high-road,  as  was  evident  from  their  increasing  their 
pace  to  a  run  ;  the  files,  however,  still  keeping  together,  like 
coupled  greyhounds,  and  advancing  with  great  rapidity.  In  far 
less  time  than  would  have  been  accomplished  by  men  less  ac- 
customed to  the  mountains,  they  had  left  the  high-road  tra- 
versed the  narrow  path,  and  approached  within  pistol-shot  of 
the  bothy,  at  the  door  of  which  stood  Hamish,  fixed  like  a 
statue  of  stone,  with  his  firelock  in  his  hand,  while  his  mother, 
placed  behind  him,  and  almost  driven  to  frenzy  by  the  violence 
of  her  passions,  reproached  him  in  the  strongest  terms  which 
despair  could  invent,  for  his  want  of  resolution  and  faintness 
of  heart.  Her  words  increased  the  bitter  gall  which  was  arising 
in  the  young  man's  own  spirit,  as  he  observed  the  unfriendly 
speed  with  which  his  late  comrades  were  eagerly  making  tow- 
ard him  like  hounds  toward  the  stag  when  he  is  at  bay.  The 
untamed  and  angry  passions  which  he  inherited  from  father 
and  mother,  were  awakened  by  the  supposed  hostility  of  those 
who  pursued  him  ;  and  the  restraint  under  v>hich  these  passions 
had  been  hitherto  held  by  his  sober  judgment,  began  gradually 
to  give  way.  The  sergeant  now  called  to  hmi,  "  Hamish  Baen 
MacTavish,  lay  down  your  arms,  and  surrender." 

"Do^w/  stand,  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  and  command  your 
men  to  stand,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  us  all." 

*'  Halt  men  !  " — said  the  sergeant,  but  continuing  himself 


Io8  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

to  advance.  "  Hamish,  think  what  you  do,  and  give  up  your 
gun ;  you  may  spill  blood,  but  you  cannot  escape  punish- 
ment." 

"  The  scourge — the  scourge  ! — My  son,  beware  of  tha 
scourge  ;  "  whispered  his  mother. 

"  Take  heed,  Allan  Breack,"  said  Hamish.  "  I  would  no? 
hurt  you  willingly, — but  I  will  not  be  taken  unless  you  car. 
assure  me  against  the  Saxon  lash." 

"  Fool  !  "  answered  Cameron,  "you  know  I  cannot;  yet  1 
will  do  all  I  can.  I  will  say  I  met  you  on  your  return,  and  the 
punishment  will  be  light — But  give  up  your  musket — Come  on, 
men." 

Instantly  he  rushed  forward,  extending  his  arm  as  if  to  push 
aside  the  young  man's  leveled  firelock.  Elspat  exclaimed, 
"  Now,  spare  not  your  father's  blood  to  defend  your  father's 
hearth  !  "  Hamish  fired  his  piece,  and  Cameron  dropped  dead. 
— All  these  things  happened,  it  might  be  said,  in  the  same 
moment  of  time.  The  soldiers  rushed  forward  and  seized 
Hamish,  who,  seeming  petrified  with  what  he  had  done,  offered 
not  the  least  resistance.  Not  so  his  mother ;  who,  seeing  the 
men  about  to  put  handcuffs  on  her  son,  threw  herself  on  the 
soldiers  with  such  fury,  that  it  required  two  of  them  to  hold  her, 
while  the  rest  secured  the  prisoner. 

"  Are  you  not  an  accursed  creature,"  said  one  of  the  men 
to  Hamish,  "  to  have  slain  your  best  friend,  who  was  contriv- 
ing, during  the  whole  march,  how  he  could  find  some  way  of 
getting  you  off  without  punishment  for  your  desertion  ?" 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  mother  ? "  said  Hamish,  turning  him- 
self as  much  toward  her  as  his  bonds  would  permit — but  the 
mother  heard  nothing,  and  saw  nothing.  She  had  fainted  on 
the  floor  of  her  hut.  Without  waiting  for  her  recovery,  the 
party  almost  immediately  began  their  homeward  march  toward 
Dunbarton,  leading  along  with  them  their  prisoner.  They 
thought  it  necessary  however,  to  stay  for  a  little  space  at  th^ 
village  of  Dalnially,  from  which  they  despatched  a  party  of  the 
inhabitants  to  bring  away  the  body  of  their  unfortunate  leader, 
while  they  themselves  repaired  to  a  magistrate  to  state  what 
had  happened,  and  require  his  instructions  as  to  the  further 
course  to  be  pursued.  The  crime  being  of  a  military  character, 
they  were  instructed  to  march  the  prisoner  to  Dumbarton  with- 
out delay. 

The  swoon  of  the  mother  of  Hamish  lasted  for  a  length  of 
time  ;  the  longer  perhaps  that  her  constitution,  strong  as  it  was, 
must  have  been  much  exhausted  by  her  previous  agitation  of 
three  days'  endurance.     She  was  roused  from  her  stupor  at 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


109 


length  by  female  voices,  which  cried  the  coronach,  or  lament 
for  the  dead,  with  clapping  of  hands  and  loud  exclamations; 
while  the  melancholy  note  of  a  lament,  appropriate  to  the  clan 
Cameron,  played  on  the  bagpipe,  was  heard  from  time  to 
time. 

Elspat  started  up  like  one  awakened  from  the  dead,  and 
without  any  accurate  recollection  of  the  scene  which  had 
passed  before  her  eyes.  There  were  females  in  the  hut  who 
were  swathing  the  corpse  in  its  bloody  plaid  before  carrying  it 
from  the  fatal  spot.  "  Women,"  she  said,  starting  up  and  inter- 
rupting their  chant  at  once  and  their  labor — "Tell  me,  women, 
why  sing  -^^on  the  dirge  of  MacDhonuil  Dhu  in  the  house  of 
MacTavish  Mhor  ? " 

"  She-wolf,  be  silent  with  thine  ill-omened  yell,"  answered 
one  of  the  females,  a  relation  of  the  deceased,  "  and  let  us  do 
our  duty  to  our  beloved  kinsman  !  There  shall  never  be  coro- 
nach cried,  or  dirge  played,  for  thee  or  thy  bloody  wolf-burd,* 
The  ravens  shall  eat  him  from  the  gibbet,  and  the  foxes  and 
wild-cats  shall  tear  thy  corpse  upon  the  hill.  Cursed  be  he 
that  would  sain  your  bones,  or  add  a  stone  to  your  cairn  !  " 

"  Daughter  of  a  foolish  mother,"  answered  the  widow  of 
MacTavish  Mhor,  "  know  that  the  gibbet,  with  which  you 
threaten  us,  is  no  portion  of  our  inheritance.  For  thirty  years 
the  Black  Tree  of  the  Law,  whose  apples  are  dead  men's  bodies, 
hungered  after  the  beloved  husband  of  my  heart  ;  but  he  died 
like  a  brave  man,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  defrauded  it 
of  its  hopes  and  its  fruit." 

"  So  shall  it  not  be  with  thy  child,  bloody  sorceress,"  replied 
the  female  mourner,  whose  passions  were  as  violent  as  those  of 
Elspat  herself.  "  The  ravens  shall  tear  his  fair  hair  to  line  their 
nests,  before  the  sun  sinks  beneath  the  Treshornish  islands." 

These  words  recalled  to  Elspat's  mind  the  whole  history  of 
the  last  three  dreadful  days.  At  first,  she  stood  fixed  as  if  the 
extremity  of  distress  had  converted  her  into  stone  ;  but  in  a 
minute,  the  pride  and  violence  of  her  temper,  outbraved  as  she 
thought  herself  on  her  own  threshold,  enabled  her  to  reply — ■ 
"Yes,  insulting  hag,  my  fair-haired  boy  may  die,  but  it  will  not 
be  with  a  white  hand — it  has  been  dyed  in  the  blood  of  his 
enemy,  in  the  best  blood  of  a  Cameron — remember  that  ;  and 
when  you  lay  your  dead  in  his  grave,  let  it  be  his  best  epitaph, 
that  he  was  killed  by  Haniish  Baen  for  essaying  to  lay  hands 
on  the  son  of  MacTavish  Mhor  on  his  old  threshold.  Farewell 
— the  shame  of  defeat,  loss,  and  slaughter,  remain  with  the 
clan  that  has  endured  it." 

*  Wolf-brood,  i.e.  wolf-cub. 


116  TME   niGIILAND    IVIbOW. 

The  relative  of  the  slaughtered  Cameron  raised  her  voice  in 
reply  ;  but  Elspat,  disdaining  to  continue  the  objurgation,  or 
perhaps  feeling  her  grief  likely  to  overmaster  her  power  of  ex- 
pressing her  resentment,  had  left  the  hut,  and  was  walking 
fortli  in  the  bright  moonshine. 

The  females  who  were  arranging  the  corpse  of  the  slaugh- 
tered man  liurried  from  their  melancholy  labor  to  look  after 
her  tall  figure  as  it  glided  away  among  the  cliffs.  "  I  am  glad 
she  is  gone,"  said  one  of  the  younger  persons  who  assisted.  "  I 
would  as  soon  dress  a  corpse  when  the  great  Fiend  himself — 
God  sain  us — stood  visibly  before  us,  as  when  Elspat  of  the 
Tree  is  amongst  us. — Ay — ay,  even  overmuch  intercourse  hath 
she  had  with  the  Enemy  in  her  day." 

"  Silly  woman,"  answered  the  female  who  had  maintained  the 
dialogue  with  the  departed  Elspat,  "  thinkest  thou  that  there  is 
a  worse  fiend  on  earth,  or  beneath  it,  than  the  pride  and  fury 
of  an  offended  woman,  like  yonder  bloody-minded  hag  ?  Know 
that  blood  has  been  as  familiar  to  her  as  the  dew  to  the  moun- 
tain daisy.  Many  and  many  a  brave  man  has  she  caused  to 
breathe  their  last  for  little  wrong  they  had  done  to  her  or  hers. 
But  her  hough-sinews  are  cut,  now  that  herwolf-burd  must,  like 
a  murderer  as  he  is,  make  a  murderer's  end." 

Whilst  the  women  thus  discoursed  together,  as  they  watched 
the  corpse  of  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  the  unhappy  cause  of  his 
death  pursued  her  lonely  way  across  the  mountain.  While  she 
remained  within  sight  of  the  bothy,  she  put  a  strong  constraint 
on  herself,  that  by  no  alteration  of  pace  or  gesture,  she  might 
afford  to  her  enemies  the  triumph  of  calculating  the  excess  of 
her  mental  agitation,  nay,  despair.  She  stalked,  therefore, 
with  a  slow  rather  than  a  swift  step,  and,  holding  herself  up- 
right, seemed  at  once  to  endure  with  firmness  that  woe  which 
was  passed,  and  bid  defiance  to  that  which  was  about  to  come. 
But  when  she  was  beyond  the  sight  of  those  who  remained  in 
the  hut,  she  could  no  longer  suppress  the  extremity  of  her  agi- 
tation. Drawing  her  mantle  wildly  round  her,  she  stopped  at 
the  first  knoll,  and  climbing  to  its  summit,  extended  her  arms 
up  to  the  bright  moon,  as  if  accusing  heaven  and  earth  for  her 
misfortunes,  and  uttered  scream  on  scream,  like  those  of  an 
eagle  whose  nest  has  been  plundered  of  her  brood.  Awhile 
she  vented  her  grief  in  these  inarticulate  cries,  then  rushed  on 
her  way  with  a  hasty  and  unequal  step,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
overtaking  the  party  which  was  conveying  her  son  a  prisoner 
to  Dumbarton.  But  her  strength,  superhuman  as  it  seemed, 
failed  her  in  the  trial,  nor  was  it  possible  for  her,  with  her  ut- 
most efforts,  to  accomplish  her  purpose. 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  lU 

Yet  she  pressed  onward,  with  all  the  speed  which  her  ex- 
hausted frame  could  exert.  When  food  became  indispensable, 
she  entered  the  first  cottage  : — "  Give  me  to  eat,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
am  the  widow  of  MacTavish  Mhor — I  am  the  mother  of  Hamish 
MacTavish  Baen, — give  me  to  eat,  that  I  may  once  more  see 
my  fair-haired  son."  Her  demand  was  never  refused,  though 
granted  in  many  cases  with  a  kind  of  struggle  between  com- 
passion and  aversion  in  some  of  those  to  whom  she  applied  which, 
was  in  others  qualified  by  fear.  The  share  she  had  had  in  oc- 
casioning the  death  of  Allan  Breack  Cameron,  which  must  prob- 
ably involve  that  of  her  own  son,  was  not  accurately  known ; 
but,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  violent  passions  and  former 
habits  of  life,  no  one  doubted  that  in  one  way  or  other  she 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  catastrophe  ;  and  Hamish  Baen 
was  considered,  in  the  slaughter  which  he  had  committed, 
rather  as  the  instrument  than  as  the  accomplice  of  his 
mother. 

This  general  opinion  of  his  countrymen  was  of  little  service 
to  the  unfortunate  Hamish.  As  his  captain.  Green  Colin,  un- 
derstood the  manners  and  habits  of  his  country,  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  collecting  from  Hamish  the  particulars  accompanying 
his  supposed  desertion,  and  the  subsequent  death  of  the  non- 
commissioned officer.  He  felt  the  utmost  compassion  for  a 
youth  who  had  thus  fallen  a  victim  to  the  extravagant  and 
fatal  fondness  of  a  parent.  But  he  had  no  excuse  to  plead 
which  could  rescue  his  unhappy  recruit  from  the  doom,  which 
military  discipline  and  the  award  of  a  court-martial  denounced 
against  him  for  the  crime  he  had  committed. 

No  time  had  been  lost  in  their  proceedings,  and  as  little 

was  interposed  betwixt  sentence  and  execution.     General 

had  determined  to  make  a  severe  example  of  the  first  deserter 
who  should  fall  into  his  power,  and  here  was  one  who  had  de- 
fended himself  by  main  force,  and  had  slain  in  the  affray  the 
officer  sent  to  take  him  into  custody.  A  fitter  subject  for 
punishment  could  not  have  occurred,  and  Hamish  was  sentenced 
to  immediate  execution.  All  which  the  interference  of  his  cai> 
tain  in  his  favor  could  procure,  was  that  he  should  die  a  sol- 
dier's death  ;  for  there  had  been  a  purpose  of  executing  him 
upon  the  gibbet. 

The  worthy  clergyman  of  Glenorquhy  chanced  to  be  at 
Dumbarton,  in  attendance  upon  some  church  courts,  at  the 
time  of  this  catastrophe.  He  visited  his  unfortunate  parishioner 
in  his  dungeon,  found  him  ignorant  indeed,  but  not  obstinate, 
and  the  answers  which  he  received  from  him,  when  conversing 
on  religious  topics,  were  such  as  induced  him  doubly  to  regret 


112  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

that  a  mind  naturally  pure  and  noble  should  have  remained  un- 
happily  so  wild  and  uncultivated. 

When  he  ascertained  the  real  character  and  disposition  of 
the  young  man,  the  worthy  pastor  made  deep  and  painful  re- 
flections on  his  own  shyness  and  timidity,  which,  arising  out 
of  the  evil  fame  that  attached  to  the  lineage  of  Hamish,  had 
restrained  him  from  charitably  endeavoring  to  bring  this  straved 
sheep  within  the  great  fold.  While  the  good  minister  blamed 
his  cowardice  in  times  past,  which  had  deterred  him  from  risk- 
ing his  person,  to  save  perhaps,  an  immortal  soul,  he  resolved 
no  longer  to  be  governed  by  such  timid  counsels,  but  to  en- 
deavor, by  application  to  his  officers,  to  obtain  a  reprieve,  at 
least,  if  not  a  pardon,  for  the  criminal,  in  whom  he  felt  so  un- 
usually interested,  at  once  from  his  docility  of  temper  and  his 
generosity  of  disposition. 

Accordingly,  the  divine  sought  out  Captain  Campbell  at  the 
barracks  within  the  garrison.  There  was  a  gloomy  melan- 
choly on  the  brow  of  Green  Colin,  which  was  not  lessened, 
but  increased,  when  the  clergyman  stated  his  name,  quality, 
and  errand. 

"  You  cannot  tell  me  better  of  the  young  man  than  1  am 
disposed  to  believe,"  answered  the  Highland  officer  ;  "  you  can- 
not ask  me  to  do  more  in  his  behalf  than  I  am  of  myself  in- 
clined, and  have  already  endeavored  to  do.     But  it  is  all  in 

vain.     General is  half  a  Lowlander,  half  an  Englishman. 

He  has  no  idea  of  the  high  and  enthusiastic  character  which, 
in  these  mountains,  often  brings  exalted  virtues  in  contact  with 
great  crimes,  which,  however,  are  less  offences  of  the  heart 
than  errors  of  the  understanding.  I  have  gone  so  far  as  to  tell 
him,  that,  in  this  young  man,  he  was  putting  to  death  the  best 
and  the  bravest  of  my  company,  where  all,  or  almost  all,  are 
good  and  brave,  I  explained  to  him  by  what  strange  delusion 
the  culprit's  apparent  desertion  was  occasioned,  and  how  little 
his  heart  was  accessory  to  the  crime  which  his  hand  unhappily 
committed.  His  answer  was,  'These  are  Highland  visions, 
Captain  Campbell,  as  unsatisfactory  and  vain  as  those  of  the 
second  sight.  An  act  of  gross  desertion  may,  in  any  case,  be 
palliated  under  the  plea  of  intoxication  ;  the  murder  of  an  offi- 
cer may  be  as  easily  colored  over  with  that  of  temporary  in- 
sanity. The  example  must  be  made  ;  and  if  it  has  fallen  on  a 
man  otherwise  a  good  recruit,  it  will  have  the  greater  effect.' — 
Such  being  the  general's  unalterable  purpose,"  continued 
Captain  Campbell,  with  a  sigh,  "  be  it  your  care,  reverend  sir, 
that  your  penitent  prepare,   by  break  of  day  to-morrow,  foi 


THE  IHGHLAXD    WIDOW. 


"3 


that  great  change  which  we  shall  all  one  day  be  subjected 
to." 

"  And  for  which,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  may  God  prepare 
us  all,  as  I  in  my  duty  will  not  be  wanting  to  this  poor  youth." 

Next  morning  as  the  very  earliest  beams  of  sunrise  saluted 
the  gray  towers  which  crown  the  summit  of  that  singular  and 
tremendous  rock,  the  soldiers  of  the  new  Highland  regiment 
appeared  on  the  parade,  within  the  Castle  of  Dumbarton,  and 
having  fallen  into  order,  began  to  move  downward  by  steep  stair- 
cases and  narrow  passages  toward  the  external  barrier-gate, 
which  is  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  rock.  The  wild  wailings  of 
the  pibroch  were  heard  at  times,  interchanged  with  the  drums 
and  fifes  which  beat  the  Dead  March. 

The  unhappy  criminal's  fate  did  not,  at  first,  excite  that 
general  sympathy  in  the  regiment  which  would  probably  have 
arisen  had  he  been  executed  for  desertion  alone.  The  slaughter 
of  the  unfortunate  Allan  Breack  had  given  a  different  color 
to  Hamish's  offence ;  for  the  deceased  was  much  beloved,  and 
besides  belonged  to  a  numerous  and  powerful  clan,  of  whom 
there  were  many  in  the  ranks.  The  unfortunate  criminal,  on 
the  contrar)',  was  little  known  to,  and  scarcely  connected  with, 
any  of  his  regimental  companions.  His  father  had  been,  indeed, 
distinguished  for  his  strength  and  manhood,  but  he  was  of  a 
broken  clan,  as  those  names  were  called  who  had  no  chief  to 
lead  them  to  battle. 

It  would  almost  have  been  impossible,  in  another  case,  to 
have  turned  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  regiment  the  party  neces- 
sary for  execution  of  the  sentence  ;  but  the  six  individuals 
selected  for  that  purpose  were  friends  of  the  deceased,  de- 
scended, like  him,  from  the  race  of  MacDhonuil  Dhu  ;  and  while 
they  prepared  for  the  dismal  task  which  their  duty  imposed,  it 
was  not  without  a  stern  feeling  of  gratified  revenge.  The  leading 
company  of  the  regiment  began  now  to  defile  from  the  barrier- 
gate,  and  was  followed  by  the  others,  each  successively  moving 
and  halting  according  to  the  orders  of  the  Adjutant,  so  as  to  form 
three  sides  of  an  oblong  square,  with  the  ranks  faced  inward. 
The  fourth,  or  blank  side  of  the  square,  was  closed  up  by  the 
huge  and  lofty  precipice  on  which  the  Castle  rises.  About  the 
centre  of  the  procession,  bare-headed,  disarmed,  and  with  his 
hands  bound,  came  the  unfortunate  victim  of  military  law.  He 
was  deadly  pale,  but  his  step  was  firm  and  his  eye  as  bright  as 
ever.  The  clergyman  walked  by  his  side — the  coffin,  which 
was  to  receive  his  mortal  remains,  was  borne  before  him.  The 
looks  of  his  comrades  were  still,  composed,  and  solemn.  They 
felt  for  the  youth,  whose  handsome  form,  and  manly  yet  sub- 


114 


THE   niGIII.AA-D    WIDOW. 


missive  deportment,  had,  as  soon  as  he  was  distinctly  visible  to 
them,  softened  the  hearts  of  many,  even  of  some  who  had  been 
actuated  by  vindictive  feelings. 

The  coffm  destined  for  the  yet  living  body  of  Hamish 
Baen  was  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow  square,  about  two 
yards  distant  from  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  which  rises  in  that 
place  as  steep  as  a  stone  wall  to  the  height  of  three  or  four 
hundred  feet.  Thither  the  prisoner  was  also  led,  the  clergyman 
still  continuing  by  his  side,  pouring  forth  exhortations  of 
courage  and  consolation,  to  which  the  youth  appeared  to  listen 
with  respectful  devotion.  With  slow  and,  it  seemed,  almost  un- 
willing steps,  the  firing  party  entered  the  square,  and  were  drawn 
up  facing  the  prisoner,  about  ten  yards  distant.  The  clergyman 
was  now  about  to  retire — "Think,  my  son,"  he  said,  "  on  what 
I  have  told  you,  and  let  your  hope  be  rested  on  the  anchor  which 
I  have  given.  You  will  then  exchange  a  short  and  miserable 
existence  here  for  a  life  in  which  you  will  experience  neither 
sorrow  nor  pain. — Is  there  aught  else  which  you  can  intrust  to 
me  to  execute  for  you  ?  " 

The  youth  looked  at  his  sleeve-buttons.  They  were  of  gold, 
booty  perhaps  which  his  father  had  taken  from  some  English 
officer  during  the  civil  wars.  The  clergyman  disengaged  them 
from  his  sleeves. 

"  My  mother !  "  he  said  with  some  effort,  "  give  them  to  my 
poor  mother  ! — See  her,  good  father,  and  teach  her  what  she 
should  think  of  all  this.  Tell  her  Hamish  Baen  is  more  glad  to 
die  then  ever  he  was  to  rest  after  the  longest  day's  hunting. 
Farewell,  sir — Farewell  !  " 

The  good  man  could  scarce  retire  from  the  fatal  spot.  An 
officer  afforded  him  the  support  of  his  arm.  At  his  last  look 
toward  Hamish,  he  beheld  him  alive  and  kneeling  on  the  coffin; 
the  few  that  were  around  him  had  all  withdrawn.  The  fatal 
word  was  given,  the  rock  rung  sharp  to  the  sound  of  the 
discharge,  and  Hamish,  falling  forward  with  a  groan,  died,  it 
may  be  supposed,  without  almost  a  sense  of  the  passing  agony. 

Ten  or  twelve  of  his  own  companv  then  came  forward,  and 
laid  with  solemn  reverence  the  remains  of  their  comrade  in  the 
coffin,  while  the  dead  march  was  again  struck  up,  and  the  several 
companies,  marching  in  single  files,  passed  the  coffin  one  by  one, 
in  order  that  all  might  receive  from  the  awful  spectacle,  the 
warning  which  it  was  peculiarly  intended  to  afford.  The  regi- 
ment was  then  marched  off  the  ground,  and  re-ascended  the 
ancient  cliff,  their  music,  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  striking 
lively  strains,  as  if  sorrow,  or  even  deep  thought,  should  as  short 
a  while  as  possible  be  the  tenant  of  the  soldier's  bosom. 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 


"S 


At  the  same  time  t'ne  small  party,  which  we  "before  mentioned, 
bore  the  bier  of  the  ill-fated  Hamish  to  his  humble  grave,  in  a 
corner  of  the  churchyard  of  Dumbarton,  usually  assigned  to 
criminals.  Here,  among  the  dust  of  the  guilty,  lies  a  youth, 
whose  name,  had  he  survived  the  ruin  of  the  fatal  events  by 
which  he  was  hurried  into  crime,  might  have  adorned  the  annals 
of  the  brave. 

The  minister  of  Glenorquhy  left  Dumbarton  immediately 
after  he  had  witnessed  the  last  scene  of  this  melancholy  catas- 
trophe. His  reason  acquiesced  in  the  justice  of  the  sentence, 
which  required  blood  for  blood,  and  he  acknowledged  that  the 
vindictiv^e  character  of  his  countrymen  required  to  be  power- 
fully restrained  by  the  strong  curb  of  social  law.  But  still  he 
mourned  over  the  individual  victim.  Who  may  arraign  the 
bolt  of  Heaven  when  it  bursts  among  the  sons  of  the  forest  ; 
yet  who  can  refrain  from  mourning,  when  it  selects  for  the 
object  of  its  blighting  aim  the  fair  stem  of  a  young  oak,  that 
promised  to  be  the  pride  of  the  dell  in  which  it  flourished  } 
Musing  on  these  melancholy  events,  noon  found  him  engaged 
in  the  mountain  passes,  by  which  he  was  to  return  to  his  still 
distant  home. 

Confident  in  his  knowledge  of  the  country,  the  clergyman  had 
left  the  main  road,  to  seek  one  of  those  shorter  paths,  which 
are  only  used  by  pedestrians,  or  by  men,  like  the  minister, 
mounted  on  the  small,  but  sure-footed,  hardy,  and  sagacious 
horses  of  the  country.  The  place  which  he  now  traversed 
was  in  itself  gloomy  and  desolate,  and  tradition  had  added  to 
it  the  terror  of  superstition,  by  affirming  it  was  haunted  by  an 
evil  spirit,  termed  Cloght-dearg,  that  is,  Redmantle,  who  at  all 
times,  but  especially  at  noon  and  at  midnight,  traversed  the 
glen,  in  enmity  both  to  man  and  the  inferior  creation,  did  such 
evil  as  her  power  was  permitted  to  extend  to,  and  afflicted  with 
ghastly  terrors  those  whom  she  had  not  license  otherwise  to 
hurt. 

The  minister  of  Glenorquhy  had  set  his  face  in  opposition 
to  many  of  these  superstitions,  which  he  justly  thought  were 
derived  from  the  dark  ages  of  Popery,  perhaps  even  from  those 
of  Paganism,  and  unfit  to  be  entertained  or  believed  by  the 
Christians  of  an  enlischtened  agfe.  Some  of  his  more  attached 
parishioners  considered  him  as  too  rash  in  opposing  the  ancient 
faith  of  their  fathers  ;  and  though  they  honorecl  the  moral 
intrepidity  of  their  pastor,  they  could  not  avoid  entertaining 
and  expressing  fears  that  he  would  one  day  fall  a  victim  to  his 
temerity,  and  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the  glen  of  the  Cloght-dearg, 
or  some  of  those  other  haunted  wilds,  which  he  appeared  rather 


ji6  THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

to  have  a  pride  and  pleasure  in  traversing  alone,  on  the  days 
and  hours  when  the  wicked  spirits  were  supposed  to  have 
especial  power  over  man  and  beast. 

These  legends  came  across  the  mind  of  the  clergyman  ;  and, 
solitary  as  he  was,  a  melancholy  smile  shaded  his  cheek,  as  he 
thought  of  the  inconsistency  of  human  nature,  and  reflected 
how  many  brave  men,  whom  the  yell  of  the  pibroch  would 
have  sent  headlong  against  fixed  bayonets,  as  the  wild  bull 
rushes  on  his  enemy,  might  have  yet  feared  to  encounter  those 
visionary  terrors,  which  he  himself,  a  man  of  peace,  and  in  ordi- 
nary perils  no  way  remarkable  for  the  firmness  of  his  nerves, 
was  now  risking  without  hesitation. 

As  he  looked  around  the  scene  of  desolation,  he  could  not 
but  acknowledge,  in  his  own  mind,  that  it  was  not  ill  chosen 
for  the  haunt  of  those  spirits,  which  are  said  to  delight  in  soli- 
tude and  desolation.  The  glen  was  so  steep  and  narrow,  that 
there  was  but  just  room  for  the  meridian  sun  to  dart  a  few 
scattered  rays  upon  the  gloomy  and  precarious  stream  which 
stole  through  its  recesses,  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  but 
occasionally  murmuring  sullenly  against  the  rocks  and  large 
stones,  which  seemed  determined  to  bar  its  further  progress. 
In  winter,  or  in  the  rainy  season,  this  small  stream  was  a  foam- 
ing torrent  of  the  most  formidable  magnitude,  and  it  was  at 
such  periods  that  it  had  torn  open  and  laid  bare  the  broad- 
faced  and  huge  fragments  of  rock,  which  at  the  season  of  which 
we  speak,  hid  its  course  from  the  eye,  and  seemed  disposed  totally 
to  interrupt  its  course.  "  Undoubtedly,"  thought  the  clergyman, 
"  this  mountain  rivulet,  suddenly  swelled  by  a  water-spout,  or 
thunder-storm,  has  often  been  the  cause  of  those  accidents,  which 
happening  in  the  glen  called  by  her  name,  have  been  ascribed 
to  the  agency  of  the   Cloght-dearg.  " 

Just  as  this  idea  crossed  his  mind,  he  heard  a  female 
voice  exclaim  in  a  wild  and  thrilling  accent,"  Michael  Tyrie — 
Michael  Tyrie  !  "  He  looked  round  in  astonishment,  and  not 
without  some  fear.  It  seemed  for  an  instant,  as  if  the  Evil 
Being,  whose  existence  he  had  disowned,  was  about  to  app>ear 
for  the  punishment  of  his  incredulity.  This  alarm  did  not  hold 
him  more  than  an  instant,  not  did  it  prevent  his  replying  in  a 
firm  voice,  "  Who  calls  and  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  One  who  journeys  in  wretchedness,  between  life  and  death," 
answered  the  voice  ;  and  the  speaker,  a  tall  female,  appeared 
from  amono:  the  fragments  of  rocks  which  had  concealed  her 
from  view. 

As  she  approached  more  closely,  her  mantle  of  bright  tartan, 
in  which  the   red   color  much  predominated,  her  stature,  the 


THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  H^ 

long  stride  with  which  she  advanced,  and  the  writhen  features 
and  wild  eyes  which  were  visible  from  under  her  curch,  would 
have  made  her  no  inadequate  representative  of  the  spirit  which 
gave  name  to  the  valley.  But  Mr.  Tyrie  instantly  knew  her  as 
the  Woman  of  the  Tree,  the  widow  of  MacTavish  Mhor,  the  now 
childless  mother  of  flamish  Baen.  I  am  not  sure  whether  the 
minister  would  not  have  endured  the  visitation  of  the  Cloght 
dearg  herself,  rather  than  the  shock  of  Elspat's  presence,  con- 
sidering  her  crime  and  her  misery.  He  drew  up  his  horse  in- 
stinctively, and  stood  endeavoring  to  collect  his  ideas,  while  a 
few  paces  brought  her  up  to  his  horse's  head. 

"  Michael  Tyrie,"  said  she,  "  the  foolish  women  of  the 
Clachan  *  hold  thee  as  a  god — be  one  to  me,  and  say  that  my 
son  lives.  Say  this,  and  I  too  will  be  of  thy  worship — I  will 
bend  my  knees  on  the  seventh  day  in  thy  house  of  worship,  and 
thy  God  shall  be  my  God." 

"  Unhappy  woman,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  man  forms  not 
pactions  with  his  Maker  as  with  a  creature  of  clay  like  himself. 
Thinkest  thou  to  chaffer  with  Him,  who  formed  the  earth,  and 
spread  out  the  heavens,  or  that  thou  canst  offer  aught  of  homage 
or  devotion  that  can  be  worth  acceptance  in  his  eyes  ?  He 
hath  asked  obedience,  not  sacrifice,  patience  under  the  trials 
with  which  he  afllicts  us,  instead  of  vain  bribes,  such  as  man 
offers  to  his  changeful  brother  of  clay,  that  he  may  be  moved 
from  his  purpose." 

"  Be  silent,  priest !  "  answered  the  desperate  woman  ;  "  speak 
not  to  me  the  words  of  thy  white  book.  Elspat's  kindred  were 
of  those  who  crossed  themselves  and  knelt  when  the  sacring 
bell  was  rung  ;  and  she  knows  that  atonement  can  be  made  on 
the  altar  for  deeds  done  in  the  field.  Elspat  had  once  flocks 
and  herds,  goats  upon  the  cliffs,  and  cattle  in  the  strath.  She 
wore  gold  around  her  neck  and  on  her  hair — thick  twists  as 
those  worn  by  the  heroes  of  old.  All  these  would  she  have 
resigned  to  the  priest — all  these  ;  and  if  he  wished  for  the 
ornaments  of  a  gentle  lady,  or  the  sporran  of  a  high  chief, 
though  they  had  been  great  as  MacAllum  More  himself,  Mac- 
Tavish Mhor  would  have  procured  them  if  Elspat  had  promised 
them.  Elspat  is  now  poor,  and  has  nothing  to  give.  Rut 
the  Black  Abbot  of  Inchaffray  would  have  bidden  her  scourge 
her  shoulders,  and  macerate  her  feet  by  pilgrimage,  and  he 
would  have  granted  his  pardon  to  her  when  he  saw  that  her 
blood  had  flowed,  and  that  her  flesh  had  been  torn.  These 
were  the  priests  who  had  indeed  power  even  with  the  most 
powerful — they  threatened  the  great  men  of  the  earth  with  the 
*%.£.,  The  village,  literally  the  stones. 


jiS  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

word  of  their  mouth,  the  sentence  of  their  book,  the  blaze  of 
their  torch,  the  sound  of  their  sacring  bell.  The  mighty  bent 
to  their  will,  unloosed  at  the  word  of  the  priests  those  whom 
they  had  bound  in  their  wrath,  and  set  at  liberty,  unharmed, 
him  whom  they  had  sentenced  to  death,  and  for  whose  blood 
they  had  thirsted.  These  were  a  powerful  race,  and  might 
well  ask  the  poor  to  kneel,  since  their  power  could  humble  the 
proud.  But  you  ! — against  whom  are  ye  strong,  but  against 
women  who  have  been  guilty  of  folly,  and  men  who  never  wore 
sword  .-'  The  priests  of  old  were  like  the  winter  torrent  which 
fills  this  hollow  valley,  and  rolls  these  massive  rocks  against 
each  other  as  easily  as  the  boy  plays  with  the  ball  which  he 
casts  before  him — But  you  !  you  do  but  resemble  the  summer- 
stricken  stream,  which  is  turned  aside  by  the  rushes,  and 
stemmed  by  a  bush  of  sedges — Woe  worth  you,  for  there  is  no 
help  in  you  !  " 

The  clergyman  was  at  no  loss  to  conceive  that  Elspat  had 
lost  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  without  gaining  any  other,  and 
that  she  still  retained  a  vague  and  confused  idea  of  the  com- 
position with  the  priesthood  by  confession,  alms,  and  penance, 
and  of  their  extensive  power,  which,  according  to  her  notion, 
was  adequate,  if  duly  propitiated,  even  to  effecting  her  son's 
safety.  Compassionating  her  situation,  and  allowing  for  her 
errors  and  ignorance,  he  answered  her  with  mildness. 

"  Alas,  unhappy  v.-oman  !  Would  to  God  I  could  convince 
thee  as  easily  where  thou  oughtest  to  seek,  and  art  sure  to  find 
consolation,  as  I  can  assure  you  with  a  single  word,  that  were 
Rome  and  all  her  priesthood  once  more  in  the  plenitude  of  their 
power,  they  could  not,  for  largesse  or  penance,  afford  to  thy 
misery  an  atom  of  aid  or  comfort. — Elspat  MacTavish,  I  grieve 
to  tell  you  the  news." 

"  I  know  them  without  thy  speech,"  said  the  unhappy  woman 
— "  My  son  is  doomed  to  die." 

"  Elspat,"  resumed  the  clergyman,  "  he  was  doomed,  and  the 
sentence  has  been  executed."  The  hapless  mother  threw  her 
eyes  up  to  heaven,  and  uttered  a  shriek  so  unlike  the  voice  of  a 
human  being,  that  the  eagle  which  soared  in  middle  air  answered 
it  as  she  would  have  done  the  call  of  her  mate. 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  impossible  !  Men 
do  not  condemn  and  kill  on  the  same  day  !  Thou  art  deceiving 
me. — The  people  call  thee  holy — hast  thou  the  heart  to  tell  a 
mother  she  has  murdered  her  only  child  1  " 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  priest,  the  tears  falling  fast  from  his 
eyes,  "that,  were  it  in  my  power,  I  would  gladly  tell  better 
tidings — but  these  which  I  bear  are  as  certain  as  they  are  fatal 


THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW.  iig 

— My  own  ears  heard  the  death-shot,  my  own  eyes  beheld  thy 
son's  death — thy  son's  funeral. — My  tongue  bears  witness  to 
what  my  ears  heard  and  my  eyes  saw." 

The  wretched  female  clasped  her  hands  close  together,  and 
held  them  up  toward  heaven  like  a  sibyl  announcing  war  and 
desolation  ;  while,  in  impotent  yet  frightful  rage,  she  poured 
forth  a  tide  of  the  deepest  imprecations. — "  Base  Saxon  churl  ! ' 
she  exclaimed,  "  vile  hypocritical  juggler  !  May  the  eyes  that 
looked  tamely  on  the  death  of  my  fair-haired  boy  be  melied  in 
their  sockets  with  ceaseless  tears,  shed  for  those  that  are  nearest 
and  most  dear  to  thee  !  May  the  ears  that  heard  his  death- 
knell  be  dead  hereafter  to  all  other  sounds  save  the  screech  of 
the  raven,  and  the  hissing  of  the  adder  !  May  the  tongue  that 
tells  me  of  his  death,  and  of  my  own  crime,  be  withered  in  thy 
mouth — or,  better,  when  thou  wouldst  pray  \vith  thy  people, 
may  the  Evil  One  guide  it,  and  give  voice  to  blasphemies  instead 
of  blessings,  until  men  shall  fly  in  terror  from  thy  presence,  and 
the  thunder  of  heaven  be  launched  against  thy  head,  and  stop 
forever  thy  cursing  and  accursed  voice  ! — Begone  with  this 
malison  !  Elspat  will  never,  never  again  bestow  so  many  words 
upon  living  man." 

She  kept  her  word.  From  that  day  the  world  was  to  her  a 
wilderness,  in  which  she  remained,  without  thought,  care,  or 
interest,  absorbed  in  her  own  grief — indifferent  to  everything 
else. 

With  her  mode  of  life,  or  rather  of  existence,  the  reader  is 
already  as  far  acquainted  as  I  have  the  power  of  making  him. 
Of  her  death,  I  can  tell  him  nothing.  It  is  supposed  to  have 
happened  several  years  after  she  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
my  excellent  friend  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol.  Her  benevolence, 
which  was  never  satisfied  with  dropping  a  sentimental  tear 
when  there  was  room  for  the  operation  of  effective  charity, 
induced  her  to  make  various  attempts  to  alleviate  the  condition 
of  this  most  wretched  woman.  But  all  her  exertions  could  only 
render  Elspat's  means  of  subsistence  less  precarious — a  circum< 
stance  which,  though  generally  interesting  even  to  the  most 
wretched  outcasts,  seemed  to  her  a  matter  of  total  indifference. 
Every  attempt  to  place  any  person  in  her  hut  to  take  charge  of 
her  miscarried,  through  the  extreme  resentment  with  which  she 
regarded  all  intrusion  on  her  solitude,  or  by  the  tniiidity  of  those 
who  had  been  pitched  upon  to  be  inmates  with  the  terrible 
Woman  of  the  Tree.  At  length,  when  Elspat  became  totally 
unable  (in  appearance  at  least)  to  turn  herself  on  the  wretched 
settle  which  served  her  for  a  couch,  the  humanity  of  Mr.  Tyrie's 
successor  sent  two  women  to  attend  upon  the  last  moments  of 


120  THE  HIGHLAND    WIDOW. 

the  solitary,  which  could  not,  it  was  judged,  be  far  distant,  and 
to  avert  the  possibility  that  she  might  perish  for  want  of  assist- 
ance or  food,  before  she  sunk  under  the  effects  of  extreme  age, 
or  mortal  malady. 

It  was  on  a  November  evening,  that  the  two  women,  appointed 
for  this  melancholy  purpose,  arrived  at  the  miserable  cottage 
which  we  have  already  described.  Its  wretched  inmate  lay 
stretched  upon  the  bed,  and  seemed  almost  already  a  lifeless 
corpse,  save  for  the  wandering  of  the  fierce  dark  eyes,  w-hich 
rolled  in  their  sockets  in  a  manner  terrible  to  look  upon,  and 
seemed  to  watch,  with  surprise  and  indignation,  the  motions  of 
the  strangers,  as  persons  whose  presence  was  alike  unexpected 
and  unwelcome.  They  were  frightened  at  her  looks  ;  but, 
assured  in  each  other's  company,  they  kindled  afire,  lighted  a 
candle,  prepared  food,  and  made  other  arrangements  for  the 
discharge  of  the  duty  assigned  them. 

The  assistants  agreed  they  should  watch  the  bedside  of  the 
sick  person  by  turns  ;  but  about  midnight,  overcome  by  fatigue 
(for  they  had  walked  far  that  morning),  both  of  them  fell  fast 
asleep. — When  they  awoke,  which  was  not  till  after  the  interval 
of  some  hours,  the  hut  was  empty,  and  the  patient  gone.  They 
rose  in  terror,  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  cottage,  which  was 
latched  as  it  had  been  at  night.  They  looked  out  into  the 
darkness,  and  called  upon  their  charge  by  her  name.  The 
night-raven  screamed  from  the  old  oak-tree  ;  the  fox  howled  on 
the  hill  ;  the  hoarse  waterfall  replied  with  its  echoes  ;  but  there 
was  no  human  answer.  The  terrified  women  did  not  dare  to 
make  further  search  till  morning  should  appear;  for  the  sudden 
disappearance  of  a  creature  so  frail  as  Elspat,  together  w'ith  the 
wild  tenor  of  her  history  intimidated  them  from  stirring  from 
the  hut.  They  remained,  therefore,  in  dreadful  terror,  some- 
times thinking  they  heard  her  voice  without,  and  at  other  times, 
that  sounds  of  a  different  description  were  mingled  with  the 
mournful  sigh  of  tne  night  breeze  or  the  dash  of  the  cascade. 
Sometimes,  too,  the  latch  rattled,  as  if  some  frail  and  impotent 
hand  were  in  vain  attempting  to  lift  it,  and  ever  and  anon  they 
expected  the  entrance  of  their  terrible  patient,  animated  by 
supernatural  strength,  and  in  the  company,  perhaps,  of  some 
being  more  dreadful  tlian  herself.  Morning  came  at  length. 
They  sought  brake,  rock,  and  thicket,  in  vain.  Two  hours  after 
daylight  the  minister  himself  appeared  ;  and,  on  the  report 
the  watchers,  caused  the  country  to  be  alarmed,  and  a  general 
and  exact  search  to  be  made  through  the  whole  neighborhood 
of  the  cottage,  and  the  oak-tree.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  Els- 
pat  MacTavish  was  never  found,  whether  dead  or  alive  ;  nor 


THE  HTGHLAND   WIDOW.  121 

could  there  ever  be  traced  the  slightest  circumstance  to  indicate 
her  fate. 

The  neighborhood  was  divided  concerning  the  cause  of 
her  disappearance.  The  credulous  thought  that  the  Evil  Spirit, 
under  whose  influence  she  seemed  to  have  acted,  had  carried 
her  away  in  the  body  ;  and  there  are  many  who  are  still  un- 
willing, at  untimely  hours,  to  pass  the  oak-tree,  beneath  which, 
as  they  allege,  she  may  still  be  seen  seated  according  to  her 
wont.  Others  less  superstitious  supposed  that  had  it  been  possi- 
ble to  search  the  gulf  of  the  Corrie  Dhu,  the  profound  depths  of 
the  lake,  or  the  whelming  eddies  of  the  river,  the  remains  of 
Elspat  MacTavish  might  have  been  discovered  ;  as  nothing 
was  more  natural,  considering  her  state  of  body  and  mind, 
than  that  she  should  have  fallen  in  by  accident,  or  precipitated 
herself  intentionally  into  one  or  other  of  those  places  of  sure 
destruction.  The  clergyman  entertained  an  opinion  of  his 
own.  He  thought  that,  impatient  of  the  watch  which  was  placed 
over  her,  this  unhappy  woman's  instinct  had  taught  her,  as  it 
directs  various  domestic  animals,  to  withdraw  herself  from  the 
sight  of  her  own  race,  that  the  death  struggle  might  take  place 
in  some  secret  den,  where,  in  all  probability,  her  mortal  relics 
would  never  meet  the  eyes  of  mortals.  This  species  of  instinc- 
nve  feeling  seemed  to  him  of  a  tenor  with  the  whole  course  of 
her  unhappy  life,  and  most  likely  to  influence  her,  when  it  drew 
to  a  conclusion. 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATK 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


MR.  CROFTANGRY  INTRODUCES  ANOTHER  TALE. 

Together  both  on  the  high  lawns  appear'd. 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn 
They  drove  afield. 

Elegy  on  Lycidas. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  wondered  why  all  the  favorite  occupa- 
tions and  pastimes  of  mankind  go  to  the  disturbance  of  that 
happy  state  of  tranquility,  that  Oim?7i,  as  Horace  terms  it, 
which  he  says  is  the  object  of  all  men's  prayers,  whether  pre- 
ferred from  sea  or  land  ;  and  that  the  undisturbed  repose,  of 
which  we  are  so  tenacious,  when  duty  or  necessity  compels  us 
to  abandon  it,  is  precisely  what  we  long  to  exchange  for  a  state 
of  excitation,  as  soon  as  we  may  prolong  it  at  our  own  pleasure. 
Briefly,  you  have  only  to  say  to  a  man,  "  remain  at  rest,"  and 
you  instantly  inspire  the  love  of  labor.  The  sportsman  toils 
like  his  gamekeeper,  the  master  of  the  pack  takes  as  severe 
exercise  as  his  whipper-in,  the  statesman  or  politician  drudges 
more  than  the  professional  lawyer ;  and  to  come  to  my  own 
case,  the  volunteer  author  subjects  himself  to  the  risk  of  pain- 
ful criticism,  and  the  assured  certainty  of  mental  and  manual 
labor,  just  as  completely  as  his  needy  brother,  whose  neces- 
sities compel  him  to  assume  the  pen. 

These  reflections  have  been  suggested  by  an  annunciation 
on  the  part  of  Janet,  "  that  the  little  Gillie-whitefoot  was  come 
from  the  printing-office." 

"  Gillie-blackfoot  you  should  call  him,  Janet,"  was  my  re- 
sponse, "  for  he  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  imp  of  the 
devil,  come  to  torment  me  for  copy,  for  so  the  printers  call  a 
supply  of  manuscript  for  the  press." 


124  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE, 

"  Now,  Cot  forgie  your  honor,"  said  Janet ;  "  for  it  is  no 
like  your  ainsell  to  give  sucli  names  to  a  faitherless  bairn." 

"  I  have  got  nothing  else  to  give  him,  Janet — he  must  wait 
a  little." 

"Then  I  have  got  some  breakfast  to  give  the  bit  gillie," 
said  Janet ;  "  and  he  can  wait  by  the  fireside  in  the  kitchen, 
till  your  honor's  ready;  and  cood  enough  for  the  like  of  him, 
if  he  was  to  wait  your  honor's  pleasure  all  day." 

"  But,  Janet,"  said  I  to  my  little  active  superintendent,  on 
her  return  to  the  parlor,  after  having  made  her  hospitable 
arrangements,  "  I  begin  to  find  this  writing  our  Chronicles  is 
rather  more  tiresome  than  I  expected,  for  here  comes  this  little 
fellow  to  ask  for  manuscript — that  is,  for  something  to  print — 
and  I  have  got  none  to  give  him." 

*'  Your  honor  can  be  at  nae  loss  ;  I  have  seen  you  write 
fast  and  fast  enough ;  and  for  subjects,  you  have  the  whole 
Highlands  to  write  about,  and  I  am  sure  you  know  a  hundred 
tales  better  than  that  about  Hamish  McTavish,  for  it  was  but 
about  a  young  cateran  and  an  auld  carline,  when  all's  done ; 
and  if  they  had  burned  the  rudas  quean  for  a  witch,  I  am 
thinking,  may  be,  they  would  not  have  tyned  their  coals — and 
her  to  gar  her  neer-do-weel  son  shoot  a  gentleman  Cameron  ! 
I  am  third  cousin  to  the  Camerons  mysell — my  blood  warms  to 
them — And  if  you  want  to  write  about  deserters,  I  am  sure 
there  were  deserters  enough  on  the  top  of  Arthur's  Seat,  when 
the  MacRaas  broke  out,  and  on  that  woeful  day  beside  Leitb 
Pier — Ohonaree  !  " 

Here  Janet  began  to  weep,  and  to  wipe  her  eyes  with  her 
apron.  For  my  part,  the  idea  I  wanted  was  supplied,  but  I 
hesitated  to  make  use  of  it.  Topics,  like  times,  are  apt  to  be- 
come common  by  frequent  use.  It  is  only  an  ass  like  Justice 
Shallow,  who  would  pitch  upon  the  over-scutched  tunes,  which 
the  carmen  whistled,  and  try  to  pass  them  off  as  \i\%  faficies  and 
his  good-niglds.  Now,  the  Highlands,  though  formerly  a  rich 
mine  for  original  matter,  are,  as  my  friend  Mrs.  Bethune  Baliol 
warned  me,  in  some  degree  worn  out  by  the  incessant  labor  of 
modern  romancers  and  novelists,  who,  finding  in  those  remote 
regions  primitive  habits  and  manners,  have  vainly  imagined  that 
the  public  can  never  tire  of  them;  and  so  kilted  Highlanders 
are  to  be  found  as  frequently,  and  nearly  of  as  genuine  descent, 
on  the  shelves  of  a  circulating  library,  as  at  a  Caledonian  ball. 
Much  might  have  been  made  at  an  earlier  time  out  of  the  his- 
tory of  a  Highland  regiment,  and  the  singular  revolution  of 
ideas  which  must  have  taken  place  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
composed  it,  when  exchanging  their  native  hills  for  the  battle- 


CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE. 


"5 


fields  of  the  Continent,  and  their  simple,  and  sometimes  indo- 
lent domestic  habits,  for  the  regular  exertions  demanded  by 
modern  discipline.  But  the  market  is  forestalled.  There  is 
Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  has  drawn  the  manners,  customs,  and 
superstitions  of  the  mountains  in  their  natural  unsophisticated 
state;*  and  my  friend,  General  Stewart  of  Garth, f  in  giving 
the  real  history  of  the  Highland  regiments,  has  rendered  any 
attempt  to  fill  up  the  sketch  with  fancy-coloring  extremely  rash 
and  precarious.  Yet  I,  too,  have  still  a  lingering  fancy  to  add 
a  stone  to  the  cairn ;  and  without  calling  in  imagination  to  aid 
the  impressions  of  juvenile  recollection,  I  may  just  attempt  to 
embody  one  or  two  scenes  illustrative  of  the  Highland  character, 
and  which  belong  peculiarly  to  the  Chronicles  of  the  Canon- 
gate,  to  the  gray-headed  eld  of  whom  they  are  as  familiar  as  to 
Chrystal  Croftangry.  Yet  I  will  not  go  back  to  the  days  of 
clanship  and  claymores.  Have  at  you,  gentle  reader,  with  a 
tale  of  Two  Drovers.  An  oyster  may  be  crossed  in  love,  says 
the  gentle  Tilburina — and  a  drover  may  be  touched  on  a  point 
of  honor,  says  the  Chronicler  of  the  Canongate. 

*  Letters  from  the  A/ojuitaitis,  3  vols. — Essays  on  the  Superstitious  of  the 
Highla72ders — The  Highlanders,  and  other  Poems,  etc. 

t  The  gallant  and  amiable  author  of  the  History  of  the  Highland  Regi- 
ments,  in  whose  glorious  services  his  own  share  had  been  great,  went  out 
Governor  of  St.  Lucia  in  1S28,  and  died  in  that  island  on  the  iSth  of 
December,  1S29 — no  man  more  regretted,  or  perhaps,  by  a  wider  circle  of 
friends  and  acquaintance. 


THE   TWO   DROVERS. 


CHAPTER    FIRST. 

It  was  the  day  after  Doune  Fair  when  m)^  story  commences. 
It  had  been  a  brisk  martcet ;  several  dealers  had  attended  from 
the  northern  and  midland  counties  in  England,  and  English 
money  had  flown  so  merrily  about  as  to  gladden  the  hearts  of 
the  Highland  farmers.  Many  large  droves  were  about  to  set 
off  for  England,  under  the  protection  of  their  owners,  or  of  the 
topsmen  whom  they  employed  in  the  tedious,  laborious,  and 
responsible  office  of  driving  the  cattle  for  many  hundred  miles, 
from  the  market  where  they  had  been  purchased,  to  the  fields 
or  farmyards  where  they  were  to  be  fattened  for  the  shambles. 

The  Highlanders,  in  particular,  are  masters  of  this  difficult 
trade  of  driving,  which  seems  to  suit  them  as  well  as  the  trade 
of  war.  It  affords  exercise  for  all  their  habits  of  patient  endur- 
ance and  active  exertion.  They  are  required  to  know  perfectly 
the  drove-roads,  which  lie  over  the  wildest  tracks  of  the  country, 
and  to  avoid  as  much  as  possible  the  highways,  which  distress 
the  feet  of  the  bullocks,  and  the  turnpikes,  which  annoy  the 
spirit  of  the  drover ;  whereas  on  the  broad  green  or  gray  track, 
which  leads  across  the  pathless  moor,  the  herd  not  only  move 
at  ease  and  without  taxation,  but,  if  they  mind  their  business, 
may  pick  up  a  mouthful  of  food  by  the  way.  At  night,  the 
drovers  usually  sleep  along  with  their  cattle,  let  the  weather  be 
what  it  will  ;  and  many  of  these  hardy  men  do  not  once  rest 
under  a  roof  during  a  journey  on  foot  from  Lochaber  to  Lincoln- 
shire. They  are  paid  very  highly,  for  the  trust  reposed  is  of  the 
last  importance,  as  it  depends  on  their  prudence,  vigilance,  and 
honesty,  whether  the  cattle  reach  the  final  market  in  good  order, 
and  afford  a  profit  to  the  grazier.  But  as  they  maintain  them- 
selves at  their  own  expense,  they  are  especially  economical  in 


THE  TWO  DROVERS.  127 

that  particular.  At  the  period  we  speak  of,  a  Highland  drover 
was  victualed  for  his  long  and  toilsome  journey  with  a  few  hand- 
fuls  of  oatmeal,  and  two  or  three  onions,  renewed  from  time  to 
time,  and  a  ram's  horn  filled  with  whisky,  which  he  used  regularly 
but  sparingly,  every  night  and  morning.  His  dirk,  or  skene-dhu 
{i.e.  black-knife),  so  worn  as  to  be  concealed  beneath  the  arm, 
or  by  the  folds  of  the  plaid,  was  his  only  weapon,  excepting  the 
cudgel  with  which  he  directed  the  movements  of  the  cattle.  A 
Highlander  was  never  so  happy  as  on  these  occasions.  There 
was  a  variety  in  the  whole  journey,  which  exercised  the  Celt's 
natural  curiosity  and  love  of  motion ;  there  were  the  constant 
change  of  place  and  scene,  the  petty  adventures  incidental  to  the 
traffic,  and  the  intercourse  with  the  various  farmers,  graziers, 
and  traders,  intermingled  with  occasional  merry-makings,  not 
the  less  acceptable  to  Donald  that  they  were  void  of  expense  ; 
— and  there  was  the  consciousness  of  superior  skill ;  for  the 
Highlander,  a  child  amongst  flocks,  is  a  prince  amongst  herds, 
and  his  natural  habits  induce  him  to  disdain  the  shepherd's 
slothful  life,  so  that  he  feels  himself  nowhere  more  at  home  than 
when  following  a  gallant  drove  of  his  country  cattle  in  the  char- 
acter of  their  guardian. 

Of  the  number  who  left  Doune  in  the  morning,  and  with  the 
purpose  we  described,  not  a  Glunamie  of  them  all  cocked  his 
bonnet  more  briskly,  or  gartered  his  tartan  hose  under  knee 
over  a  pair  of  more  promising  spiogs  (legs),  than  did  Robin  Gig 
M'Combich,  called  familiarly  Robin  Oig,  that  is.  Young,  or  the 
Lesser,  Robin.  Though  small  of  stature,  as  the  epithet  Oig 
implies,  and  not  very  strongly  limbed,  he  was  as  light  and  alert 
as  one  of  the  deer  of  his  mountains.  He  had  an  elasticity  of 
step,  which,  in  the  course  of  a  long  march,  made  many  a  stout 
fellow  envy  him  ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  busked  his  plaid 
and  adjusted  his  bonnet,  argued  a  consciousness  that  so  smart 
a  John  Highlandman  as  himself  would  not  pass  unnoticed 
among  the  Lowland  lasses.  The  ruddy  cheek,  red  lips,  and 
white  teeth,  set  off  a  countenance  which  had  gained  by  exposure 
to  the  weather  a  healthful  and  hardy  rather  than  a  rugged  hue. 
If  Robin  Oig  did  not  laugh,  or  even  smile  frequently,  as  indeed 
is  not  the  practice  among  his  countrymen,  his  bright  eyes  usually 
gleamed  from  under  his  bonnet  with  an  expression  of  cheerful- 
ness ready  to  be  turned  into  mirth. 

The  departure  of  Robin  Oig  was  an  incident  in  the  little 
town,  in  and  near  which  he  had  many  friends,  male  and 
female. 

He  was  a  topping  person  in  his  way,  transacted  considerable 
business  on  his  own  behalf,   and  was    intrusted  by   the  best 


128  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

farmers  in  the  Highlands,  in  preference  to  any  other  drover  in 
that  district.  He  might  have  increased  his  business  to  any  ex- 
tent had  he  condescended  to  manage  it  by  deputy ;  but  except 
a  lad  or  two,  sister's  sons  of  his  own,  Robin  rejected  the  idea 
of  assistance,  conscious,  perhaps,  how  much  his  reputation  de- 
pended upon  his  attending  in  person  to  the  practical  discharge 
of  his  duty  in  ever}'  instance.  He  remained,  therefore,  contented 
with  the  highest  premium  given  to  persons  of  his  description, 
and  comforted  himself  v.ith  the  hopes  that  a  few  journeys  to 
England  might  enable  him  to  conduct  business  on  his  own 
account,  in  a  manner  becoming  his  birth.  For  Robin  Oig's 
father,  Lachlan  M'Combich  {ox  son  of  my  friend,  his  actual  clan- 
surname  being  M'Gregor),  had  been  so  called  by  the  celebrated 
Rob  Roy,  because  of  the  particular  friendship  which  had  sub- 
sisted between  the  grandsire  of  Robin  and  that  renowned  cateran. 
Some  people  even  say,  that  Robin  Oig  derived  his  Christian 
name  from  one  as  renowned  in  the  wilds  of  Lochlomond  as  ever 
was  his  namesake  Robin  Hood  in  the  precincts  of  merry  Sher- 
wood. "  Of  such  ancestry,"  as  James  Boswell  says,  "  who  would 
not  be  proud  ?  "  Robin  Oig  was  proud  accordingly  ;  but  his 
frequent  visits  to  England  and  to  the  Lowlands  had  given  him 
tact  enough  to  know  that  pretensions,  which  still  gave  him  a 
little  right  to  distinction  in  his  own  lonely  glen,  might  be  both 
obnoxious  and  ridiculous  if  preferred  elsewhere.  The  pride  of 
birth,  therefore,  was  like  the  miser's  treasure,  the  secret  subject 
of  his  contemplation,  but  never  exhibited  to  strangers  as  a  sub- 
ject of  boasting. 

Many  were  the  words  of  gratulation  and  good  luck  which 
were  bestowed  on  Robin  Oig.  The  judges  commended  his 
drove,  especially  Robin's  own  property,  which  were  the  best  of 
them.  Some  thrust  out  their  snuff-mulls  for  the  parting  pinch 
— others  tendered  the  doch-an-dorrach,  or  parting  cup.  All 
cried — "  Good-luck  travel  out  with  you  and  come  home  with 
you. — Give  you  luck  in  the  Saxon  market — brave  notes  in  the 
ieabJiar-dhu"  (black  pocketbook),  "and  plenty  of  English 
gold  in  the  sporran  "  (pouch  of  goat-skin). 

The  bonny  lasses  made  their  adieus  more  modestly,  and  more 
than  one,  it  was  said,  would  have  given  her  best  brooch  to  be 
certain  that  it  was  upon  her  that  his  eye  last  rested  as  he 
turned  toward  the  road. 

Robin  Oig  had  just  given  the  preliminary  '■'■  Hoo-hoo  I  ^^  to 
urge  forward  the  loiterers  of  the  drove,  when  there  was  a  cry 
behind  him. 

"Stay,  Robin — bide  a  blink.  Here  is  Janet  of  Tomahou* 
rich — auld  Janet,  your  father's  sister." 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


129 


"Plague  on  her,  for  an  auld  Highland  witch  and  spaewife," 
said  a  farmer  from  the  carse  of  Stirling;  "she'll  cast  some  of 
her  cantrips  on  the  cattle." 

"  She  canna  do  that,"  said  another  sapient  of  the  same  pro- 
fession— "  Robin  Oig  is  no  the  lad  to  leave  any  of  them,  with- 
out tying  Saint  Mungo's  knot  on  their  tails,  and  that  will  put 
to  her  speed  the  best  witch  that  ever  flew  over  Dimayet  upon  a 
broomstick." 

It  may  not  be  indifferent  to  the  reader  to  know,  that  the 
Highland  cattle  are  peculiarly  liable  to  be  taken,  or  infected, 
by  spells  and  witchcraft ;  which  judicious  people  guard  against, 
by  knitting  knots  of  peculiar  complexity  on  the  tuft  of  hair 
which  terminates  the  animal's  tail. 

But  the  old  woman  who  was  the  object  of  the  farmer's  sus 
picion,  seemed  only  busied  about  the  drover,  without  paying 
any  attention  to  the  drove.  Robin,  on  the  contrary,  appeared 
rather  impatient  of  her  presence. 

"What  auld-world  fancy,"  he  said,  "has  brought  you  so 
early  from  the  ingle-side  this  morning,  Muhme  1  I  am  sure  I 
bid  you  good-even,  and  had  your  God-speed,  last  night." 

"  And  left  me  more  siller  than  the  useless  old  woman  will 
use  till  you  come  back  again,  bird  of  my  bosom,"  said  the 
sibyl.  "But  it  is  little  I  would  care  for  the  food  that  nourishes 
me,  or  the  fire  that  warms  me,  or  for  God's  blessed  sun  itself, 
if  aught  but  weel  should  happen  to  the  grandson  of  my  father. 
So  let  me  walk  the  deasil  round  you,  that  you  may  go  safe  out 
into  the  foreign  land,  and  come  safe  home." 

Robin  Oig  stopped,  half  embarrassed,  half  laughing,  and 
signing  to  those  near  that  he  only  complied  with  the  old  woman 
to  soothe  her  humor.  In  the  meantime,  she  traced  around 
him,  with  wavering  steps,  the  propitiation,  which  some  have 
thought  has  been  derived  from  the  Druidical  mythology.  It 
consists,  as  is  well  known,  in  the  person  who  makes  the  deasil 
walking  three  times  round  the  person  who  is  the  object  of  the 
ceremony,  taking  care  to  move  according  to  the  course  of  the 
sun.  At  once,  however,  she  stopped  short,  and  exclaimed,  in 
a  voice  of  alarm  and  horror,  "  Grandson  of  my  father,  there  is 
blood  on  your  hand." 

"Hush,  for  God's  sake,  aunt,"  said  Robin  Oig;  "you  will 
bring  more  trouble  on  yourself  with  this  Taishataragh  "  (second 
sight)  "than  you  will  be  able  to  get  out  of  for  many  a  day." 

The  old  woman  only  repeated,  with  a  ghastly  look,  "  There 
is  blood  on  your  hand,  and  it  is  English  blood.  The  blood  of 
the  Gael  is  richer  and  redder.     Let  us  see — let  us  " 

Ere  R.obin  Oig  could  prevent  her,  which,  indeed,  could  only 


130  THE  TWO  D ROVERS. 

have  been  done  by  positive  violence,  so  hasty  and  peremptory 
were  her  proceedings,  she  had  drawn  from  his  side  the  dirk 
which  lodged  in  the  folds  of  his  plaid,  and  held  it  up,  exclaim- 
ing, although  the  weapon  gleamed  clear  and  bright  in  the  suii, 
"  Blood,  blood— Saxon  blood  again,  Robin  Oig  M'Combich, 
go  not  this  day  to  England  !  " 

"  Prutt  trutt,"  answered  Robin  Oig,  "  that  will  never  do 
neither — it  would  be  next  thing  to  running  the  country.  For 
shame,  Muhme — give  me  the  dirk.  You  cannot  tell  by  the 
color  the  difference  betwixt  the  blood  of  a  black  bullock  and  a 
white  one,  and  you  speak  of  knowing  Saxon  from  Gaelic  blood. 
All  men  have  their  blood  from  Adam,  Muhme.  Give  me  my 
skene-dhu,  and  let  me  go  on  my  road.  I  should  have  been 
half-way  to  Stirling  Brig  by  this  time. — Give  me  my  dirk,  and 
let  me  go." 

"  Never  will  I  give  it  to  you,"  said  the  old  woman — "  Never 
will  I  quit  my  hold  on  your  plaid,  unless  you  promise  me  not 
to  wear  that  unhappy  weapon." 

The  women  around  him  urged  him  also,  saying  few  of  his 
aunt's  words  fell  to  the  ground ;  and  as  the  Lowland  farmers 
continued  to  look  moodily  on  the  scene,  Robin  Oig  determined 
to  close  it  at  any  sacrifice. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  young  drover,  giving  the  scabbard  of 
the  weapon  to  Hugh  Morrison,  "you  Lowlanders  care  nothing 
for  these  freats.  Keep  my  dirk  for  me.  I  cannot  give  it  to 
you,  because  it  was  my  father's ;  but  your  drove  follows  cure, 
and  I  am  content  it  should  be  in  your  keeping,  not  in  mine. — • 
Will  this  do,  Muhme  ? " 

"  It  must,"  said  the  old  woman — "  that  is,  if  the  Lowlander 
is  mad  enough  to  carry  the  knife." 

The  strong  westlandman  laughed  aloud. 

"  Goodwife,"  said  he,  "  I  am  Hugh  Morrison  from  Glenae, 
come  of  the  Manly  Morrisons  of  auld  langsyne,  that  never  took 
<  short  weapon  against  a  man  in  their  lives.  And  neither  needed 
they.  They  had  their  broadswords,  and  I  have  this  bit  supple," 
showing  a  formidable  cudgel — "for  dirking  ower  the  board,  I 
leave  that  to  John  Highlandman — Ye  needna  snort,  none  of  you 
Highlanders,  and  you  in  especial  Robin.  I'll  keep  the  bit  knife, 
if  you  are  feared  for  the  auld  spaewife's  tale,  and  give  it  back 
to  you  whenever  you  want  it." 

Robin  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  some  part  of  Hugh 
Morrison's  speech  ;  but  he  had  learned  in  his  travels  more 
patience  than  belonged  to  his  Highland  constitution  originally, 
and  he  accepted  the  service  of  the  descendant  of  the  Manly 


THE  TWO  DROVERS.  131 

Morrisons  without  finding  fault  with  the  rather  depreciating 
manner  in  which  it  was  offered. 

"  If  he  had  not  had  his  morning  in  his  head,  and  been  but  a 
Dumfriesshire  hog  into  the  boot,  he  would  have  spoken  more 
like  a  gentleman.  But  you  cannot  have  more  of  a  sow  than  a 
grumph.  It's  shame  my  father's  knife  should  ever  slash  a  hag- 
gis for  the  like  of  him." 

Thus  saying  (but  saying  it  in  Gaelic),  Robin  drove  on  his 
cattle,  and  waved  farewell  to  all  behind  him.  He  was  in  the 
greater  haste,  because  he  expected  to  join  at  Falkirk  a  comrade 
and  brother  in  profession,  with  whom  he  proposed  to  travel  in 
company. 

Robin  Oig's  chosen  friend  was  a  young  Englishman,  Harry 
Wakefield  by  name,  well  known  at  every  northern  market,  and 
in  his  way  as  much  famed  and  honored  as  our  Highland  driver 
of  bullocks.  He  was  nearly  six  feet  high,  gallantly  formed  to 
keep  the  rounds  at  Smithfield,  or  maintain  the  ring  at  a  wrest- 
ling match  ;  and  although  he  might  have  been  overmatched  per- 
haps, among  the  regular  professors  of  the  Fancy,  yet,  as  a  yokel, 
or  rustic,  or  a  chance  customer,  he  was  able  to  give  a  bellyful 
to  any  amateur  of  the  pugilistic  art.  Doncaster  races  saw  him 
in  his  glory,  betting  his  guinea,  and  generally  successfully  ;  nor 
was  there  a  main  fought  in  Yorkshire,  the  feeders  being  persons 
of  celebrity,  at  which  he  was  not  to  be  seen,  if  business  permitted. 
But  though  a  sprack  lad,  and  fond  of  pleasure  and  its  haunts, 
Harry  Wakefield  was  steady,  and  not  the  cautious  Robin  Oig 
M'Combich  himself  was  more  attentive  to  the  main  chance.  His 
holidays  were  holidays  indeed  ;  but  his  days  of  work  were  dedi- 
cated to  steady  and  persevering  labor.  In  countenance  and 
temper,  Wakefield  was  the  model  of  old  England's  merry  yeomen, 
whose  clothyard  shafts,  in  so  many  hundred  battles,  asserted  her 
superiority  over  the  nations,  and  whose  good  sabres,  in  our  own 
time,  are  her  cheapest  and  most  assured  defence.  His  mirth 
was  read'ly  excited  ;  for,  strong  in  limb  and  constitution,  and 
fortunate  in  circumstances,  he  was  disposed  to  be  pleased  with 
everything  about  him  ;  and  such  difficulties  as  he  might  occa- 
sionally encounter,  were,  to  a  man  of  his  energy,  rather  matter 
of  amusement  than  serious  annoyance.  With  all  the  merits  of 
a  sanguine  temper,  our  young  English  drover  was  not  without 
his  defects.  He  was  irascible,  sometimes  to  the  verge  of  being 
quarrelsome  ;  and  perhaps  not  the  less  inclined  to  bring  his 
disputes  to  a  pugilistic  decision,  because  he  found  few  antag- 
onists able  to  stand  up  to  him  in  the  boxing  ring. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  Harry  Wakefield  and  Robin  Oig 
first  became  intimates  ;  but  it  is  certain  a  close  acquaintance 


132  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

had  taken  place  betwixt  them,  although  they  had  apparently 
few  common  subjects  of  conversation  or  of  interest,  so  soon  as 
their  talk  ceased  to  be  of  bullocks.  Robin  Oig,  indeed,  spoke 
the  English  language  rather  imperfectly  upon  any  other  topics 
but  stots  and  kyloes,  and  Harry  Wakefield  could  never  bring 
his  broad  Yorkshire  tongue  to  utter  a  single  word  of  Gaelic. 
It  was  in  vain  Robin  spent  a  whole  morning,  during  a  walk 
over  Minch  Moor,  in  attempting  to  teach  his  companion  to  utter, 
with  true  precision,  the  shibboleth  Llhii,  which  is  the  Gaelic  for 
a  calf.  From  Traquair  to  Murder- cairn,  the  hill  rang  with  the 
discordant  attempts  of  the  Saxon  upon  the  unmanageable  mono- 
svllable,  and  the  heartfelt  laugh  which  followed  every  failure. 
They  had,  however,  better  modes  of  awakening  the  echoes  ;  for 
Wakefield  could  sing  many  a  ditty  to  the  praise  of  Moll,  Susan, 
and  Cicely,  and  Robin  Oig  had  a  particular  gift  at  whistling 
interminable  pibrochs  through  all  their  involutions,  and  what 
was  more  agreeable  to  his  companion's  southern  ear,  knew  many 
of  the  northern  airs,  both  lively  and  pathetic,  to  which  Wake- 
field learned  to  pipe  a  bass.  Thus,  though  Robin  could  hardly 
have  comprehended  his  companion's  stories  about  horse-racing, 
and  cock-fighting,  or  fox-hunting,  and  although  his  own  legends 
of  clan-fights  and  creaghs,  vai!^^  with  talk  of  Highland  goblins 
and  fairy  folk,  would  have  been  caviare  to  his  companion,  they 
contrived  nevertheless  to  find  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  each 
other's  company,  which  had  for  three  years  back  induced  therri 
to  join  company  and  travel  together,  when  the  direction  of 
their  journey  permitted.  Each,  indeed,  found  his  advantage 
in  this  companionship  ;  for  where  could  the  Englishman  have 
found  a  guide  through  the  Western  Highlands  like  Robin  Oig 
M'Combich  ?  and  when  they  were  on  what  Harry  called  the 
.right  side  of  the  border,  his  patronage,  which  was  extensive, 
and  his  purse,  which  was  heavy,  were  at  all  times  at  the  services 
of  his  Highland  friend,  and  on  many  occasions  his  liberality 
did  him  genuine  yeoman's  service. 


THE  TWO  DROVERS,  13 j 


CHAPTER  SECOND. 

Were  ever  two  such  loving  friends  I— 

How  could  they  disagree  ? 
Oh,  thus  it  was,  he  loved  him  dear, 

And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 
And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 

He  did  resolve  to  fight  him. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 

The  pair  of  friends  had  traversed  with  their  usual  cordiality 
the  grassy  wilds  of  Liddesdale,  and  crossed  the  opposite  part  of 
Cumberland,  emphatically  called  The  Waste,  In  these  solitary 
regions,  the  cattle  under  the  charge  of  our  drovers  derived  their 
subistence  chiefly  by  picking  their  food  as  they  went  along  the 
drove  road  or  sometimes  by  the  tempting  opportunity  of  2i  start 
and  owerloup,  or  invasion  of  the  neighboring  pasture,  where  an 
occasion  presented  itself.  But  now  the  scene  changed  before 
them  ;  they  were  descending  toward  a  fertile  and  enclosed 
country,  where  no  such  liberties  could  be  taken  with  impunity, 
or  without  a  previous  arrangement  and  bargain  with  the  pos- 
sessor of  the  ground.  This  was  more  especially  the  case,  as  a 
great  northern  fair  was  upon  the  eve  of  taking  place,  where  both 
the  Scotch  and  English  drover  expected  to  dispose  of  a  part  of 
their  cattle,  which  it  was  desirable  to  produce  in  the  market 
rested  and  in  good  order.  Fields  were  therefore  difficult  to  be 
obtained,  and  only  upon  high  terms.  This  necessity  occasioned 
a  temporary  separation  betwixt  the  two  friends,  who  went  to 
bargain,  each  as  he  could,  for  the  separate  accommodation  of 
his  herd.  Unhappily  it  chanced  that  both  of  them,  unknown  to 
each  other,  thought  of  bargaining  for  the  ground  they  wanted 
on  the  property  of  a  country  gentleman  of  some  fortune,  whose 
estate  lay  in  the  neighborhood.  The  English  drover  applied  to 
the  bailiff  on  the  property,  who  was  known  to  him.  It  chanced 
that  the  Cumbrian  Squire,  who  had  entertained  some  suspicions 
of  his  manager's  honesty,  was  taking  occasional  measures  to 
ascertain  how  far  they  were  well-founded,  and  had  desired  that 
any  inquiries  about  his  enclosures,  with  a  view  to  occupy  them 
for  a  temporary  purpose,  should  be  referred  to  himself.  As, 
however,  Mr.  Ireby  had  gone  the  day  before  upon  a  journey  of 
some  miles  distance  to  the  northward,  the  bailiff  chose  to  con- 
sider the  check  upon  his  full  powers  as  for  the  time  removed 
and  concluded  that  he  should  best  consult  his  master's  interest, 


13;  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

and  perhaps  his  own,  in  making  an  agreement  with  Harry 
Wakefield.  Meanwhile,  ignorant  of  what  his  comrade  was 
doing,  Robin  Oig,  on  his  side,  chanced  to  be  overtaken  by  a 
good-looking  smart  little  man  upon  a  pony,  most  knowingly 
hogged  and  cropped,  as  was  then  the  fashion,  the  rider  wearing 
tight  leather  breeches,  and  long-necked  bright  spurs.  This 
cavalier  asked  one  or  two  pertinent  questions  about  markets 
and  the  price  of  stock.  So  Robin,  seeing  him  a  well-judging 
civil  gentleman,  took  the  freedom  to  ask  him  whether  he 
could  let  him  know  if  there  was  any  grass  land  to  be  let  in 
that  neighborhood,  for  the  temporary  accommodation  of  his 
drove.  He  could  not  have  put  the  question  to  more  willing 
ears.  The  gentleman  of  the  buckskin  was  the  proprietor,  with 
whose  bailiff  Harry  Wakefield  had  dealt,  or  was  in  the  act  of 
dealing. 

"  Thou  art  in  good  luck,  my  canny  Scot,"  said  Mr.  Ireby, 
"  to  have  spoken  to  me,  for  I  see  thy  cattle  have  done  their 
day's  work,  and  I  have  at  my  disposal  the  only  field  within 
three  miles  that  is  to  be  let  in  these  parts." 

"  The  drove  can  pe  gang  two,  three,  four  miles  very  pratty 
weel  indeed,"  said  the  cautious  Highlander;  "  put  what  would 
his  honor  be  axing  for  the  peasts,  pe  the  head,  if  she  was  to 
tak  the  park  for  twa  or  three  days  ?  " 

"  We  won't  differ,  Sawney,  if  you  let  me  have  six  stots  for 
■winterers,  in  the  way  of  reason." 

"  And  which  peasts  wad  your  honor  pe  for  having?  " 

"  Why — let  me  see — the  two  black — the  dun  one — yon  doddy 
— him  with  the  twisted  horn — the  brocket — How  much  by  the 
head .? " 

"Ah,"  said  Robin,  "your  honor  is  a  shudge — a  real  shudge 
— I  couldna  have  set  off  the  pest  six  peasts  petter  mysell,  me 
that  ken  them  as  if  they  were  my  pairns,  puir  things." 

"  Well,  how  much  per  head,  Sawney  ? "  continued  Mr. 
Ireby. 

"  It  was  high  markets  at  Doune  and  Falkirk,"  answered 
Robin. 

And  thus  the  conversation  proceeded,  until  they  had  agreed 
on  ih&frix  Juste  for  the  bullocks,  the  Squire  throwing  in  the 
temporar)-  accommodation  of  the  enclosure  for  the  cattle  into 
the  boot,  and  Robin  making,  as  he  thought,  a  very  good 
bargain,  provided  the  grass  was  but  tolerable.  The  squire 
walked  his  pony  alongside  of  the  drove,  partly  to  show  him  the 
way,  and  see  him  put  into  possession  of  the  field,  and  partly  to 
learn  the  latest  news  of  the  northern  markets. 

They  arrived  at  the  field,  and  the  pasture  seemed  excellent. 


THE  TWO  DROVERS,  1 35 

But  what  was  their  surprise  when  they  saw  the  bailifl:  quietly 
inducting  the  cattle  of  Harry  Wakefield  into  the  grassy  Goshen 
which  had  just  been  assigned  to  those  of  Robin  Oig  M'Comb- 
ich  by  the  proprietor  himself  !  Squire  Ireby  set  spurs  to  his 
horse,  dashed  up  to  his  servant,  and  learning  what  had  passed 
between  the  parties,  briefly  informed  the  English  drover  that 
his  bailiff  had  let  the  ground  without  his  authority,  and  that  he 
might  seek  grass  for  his  cattle  wherever  he  would,  since  he  was 
to  get  none  there.  At  the  same  time  he  rebuked  his  servant 
severely  for  having  transgressed  his  commands,  and  ordered 
him  instantly  to  assist  in  ejecting  the  hungry  and  weary  cattle 
of  Harry  Wakefield,  which  were  just  beginning  to  enjoy  a  meal 
of  unusual  plenty,  and  to  introduce  those  of  his  comrade,  whom 
the  English  drover  now  began  to  consider  as  a  rival. 

The  feelings  which  arose  in  Wakefield's  mind  would  have 
induced  him  to  resist  Mr.  Ireby's  decision  ;  but  every  English- 
man has  a  tolerably  accurate  sense  of  law  and  justice,  and  John 
Fleecebumpkin,  the  bailiff,  having  acknowledged  that  he  had 
exceeded  his  commission,  Wakefield  saw  nothing  else  for  it  than 
to  collect  his  hungry  and  disappointed  charge,  and  drive  them 
on  to  seek  quarters  elsewhere.  Robin  Oig  saw  what  had 
happened  with  regret,  and  hastened  to  ofiferto  his  English  friend 
to  share  with  him  the  disputed  possession.  But  Wakefield's 
pride  was  severely  hurt,  and  he  answered  disdainfully,  "  Take 
it  all,  man — take  it  all — never  make  two  bites  of  a  cherry — 
thou  canst  talk  over  the  gentry,  and  blear  a  plain  man's  eye — 
Out  upon  you,  man — I  would  not  kiss  any  man's  dirty  latchets 
for  leave  to  bake  in  his  oven." 

Robin  Oig,  sorry  but  not  surprised  at  his  comrade's  dis- 
pleasure, hastened  to  entreat  his  friend  to  wait  but  an  hour  till 
he  had  gone  to  the  Squire's  house  to  receive  payment  for  the 
cattle  he  had  sold,  and  he  would  come  back  and  help  him  to 
drive  the  cattle  into  some  convenient  place  of  rest,  and  explain 
to  him  the  whole  mistake  they  had  both  of  them  fallen  into 
But  the  Englishman  continued  indignant :  "  Thou  hast  been 
selling,  hast  thou?  Ay,  ay — thou  is  a  cunning  lad  for  kenning 
the  hours  of  bargaining.  Go  to  the  devil  with  thyself,  for  I 
will  ne'er  see  thy  fause  loon's  visage  again — thou  should  be 
ashamed  to  look  me  in  the  face." 

*'  I  am  ashamed  to  look  no  man  in  the  face,"  said  Robin 
Oig,  something  moved  ;  "  and,  moreover,  I  will  look  you  in  the 
face  this  blessed  day,  if  you  will  bide  at  the  clachan  down 
yonder." 

"  Mayhap  you  had  as  well  keep  away,"  said  his  comrade  ; 
^nd,  turning  his  back  on  his  former  friend,  he  collected  his 


136.  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

unwilling  associates,  assisted  by  the  bailiff,  who  took  Srsme  real 
and  some  affected  interest  in  seeing  Wakefield  accommodated. 

After  spending  some  time  in  negotiating  with  more  than  one 
of  the  neighboring  farmers,  who  could  not,  or  would  not,  afford 
the  accommodation  desired,  Henry  Wakefield  at  last,  and  in  his 
necessity,  accomplished  his  point  by  means  of  the  landlord  of  the 
alehouse  at  which  Robin  Oig  and  he  had  agreed  to  pass  the 
night,  when  they  first  separated  from  each  other.  Mine  host 
was  content  to  let  him  turn  his  cattle  on  a  piece  of  barren  moor, 
at  a  price  little  less  than  the  bailiff"  had  asked  for  the  disputed 
enclosure  ;  and  the  wretchedness  of  the  pasture,  as  well  as  the 
price  paid  for  it,  were  set  down  as  exaggerations  of  the  breach  of 
faith  and  friendship  of  his  Scottish  crony.  This  turn  of  Wake- 
field's passions  was  encouraged  by  the  bailiff  (who  had  his  own 
reasons  for  being  offended  against  poor  Robin,  as  having  been 
the  unwitting  cause  of  his  falling  into  disgrace  with  his  master), 
as  well  as  by  the  innkeeper,  and  two  or  three  chance  guests,  who 
stimulated  the  drover  in  his  resentment  against  his  quondam 
associate, — some  from  the  ancient  grudge  against  the  Scots, 
which,  when  it  exis's  anywhere,  is  to  be  found  lurking  in  the 
Border  counties,  and  some  from  the  general  love  of  mischief 
which  characterizes  mankind  in  all  ranks  of  life,  to  the  honor 
of  Adam's  children  be  it  spoken.  Good  John  Barleycorn  also, 
who  always  heightens  and  exaggerates  the  prevailing  passions, 
be  they  angry  or  kindly,  was  not  wanting  in  his  offices  on  this 
occasion  ;  and  confusion  to  false  friends  and  hard  masters  was 
pledged  in  more  than  one  tankard. 

In  the  meanwhile  Mr.  Ireby  found  some  amusement  in  de- 
taining the  northern  drover  at  his  ancient  hall.  He  caused  a 
cold  round  of  beef  to  be  placed  before  the  Scot  in  the  butler's 
pantry,  together  with  a  foaming  tankard  of  home-brewed,  and 
took  pleasure  in  seeing  the  hearty  appetite  with  which  these 
unwonted  edibles  were  discussed  by  Robin  Oig  M'Combich, 
The  squire  himself  lighting  his  pipe,  compounded  between  his 
patrician  dignity  and  his  love  of  agricultural  gossip,  by  walking 
up  and  down  while  he  conversed  with  his  guest. 

"  I  passed  another  drove,"  said  the  Squire,  "  with  one  of 
your  countrymen  behind  them — they  were  something  less  beasts 
than  your  drove,  doddies  most  of  them — a  big  man  was  with 
them — none  of  your  kilts  though,  but  a  decent  pair  of  breeches 
— D'ye  know  who  he  may  be  ?  " 

"  Hout  ay — that  might,  could,  and  would  be  Hughie  Morrison 
— I  didna  think  he  could  hae  peen  sae  weel  up.  He  has  made 
a  day  on  us  ;  but  his  Argyleshires  will  have  wearied  shanks^ 
How  far  was  he  pehind  .''  " 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


137 


"  I  think  about  six  or  seven  miles,"  answered  the  Squire," 
"for  I  passed  them  at  the  Christenbury  Crag,  and  I  overtook 
you  at  the  Hollan  Bush.  If  his  beasts  be  leg-weary,  he  will 
maybe  be  selling  bargains." 

"  Na,  na,  Hughie  Morrison  is  no  the  man  for  pargains — ye 
maun  come  to  some  Highland  body  like  Robin  Oig  hersell  for 
the  like  of  these — put  I  maun  pe  wishing  you  goot  night,  and 
twenty  of  them  let  alane  ane,  and  I  maun  down  to  the  Clachan 
to  see  if  the  lad  Harry  Waakfelt  is  out  of  his  humdudgeons 
yet." 

The  party  at  the  alehouse  were  still  in  full  talk,  and  the 
treachery  of  Robin  Oig  still  the  theme  of  conversation,  when 
the  supposed  culprit  entered  the  apartment.  His  arrival,  as 
usually  happens  in  such  a  case,  put  an  instant  stop  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  which  he  had  furnished  the  subject,  and  he  was 
received  by  the  company  assembled  with  that  chilling  silence, 
which,  more  than  a  thousand  exclamations,  tells  an  intruder 
that  he  is  unwelcome.  Surprised  and  offended,  but  not  appalled 
by  the  reception  which  he  experienced,  Robin  entered  with  an 
undaunted  and  even  a  haughty  air,  attempted  no  greeting,  as 
he  saw  he  was  received  with  none,  and  placed  himself  by  the 
side  of  the  fire,  a  little  apart  from  a  table  at  which  Harry  Wake- 
field, the  bailiff,  and  two  or  three  other  persons,  were  seated. 
The  ample  Cumbrian  kitchen  would  have  afforded  plenty  of 
room  even  for  a  larger  separation. 

Robin,  thus  seated,  proceeded  to  light  his  pipe,  and  call  for 
a  pint  of  twopenny. 

"  We  have  no  twopence  ale,"  answered  Ralph  Heskett,  the 
landlord  ;  "  but  as  thou  find'st  thy  own  tobacco,  it's  like  thou 
may'st  find  thy  own  liquor  too — it's  the  wont  of  thy  country,  I 
wot." 

"  Shame,  goodman,"  said  the  landlady,  a  blithe  bustling 
housewife,  hastening  herself  to  supply  the  guest  with  liquor — 
*'  Thou  knowest  well  enow  what  the  strange  man  wants,  and  it's 
thy  trade  to  be  civil,  man.  Thou  shouldst  know,  that  if  the 
Scot  likes  a  small  pot,  he  pays  a  sure  penny." 

Without  taking  any  notice  of  this  nuptial  dialogue,  the 
Highlander  took  the  flagon  in  his  hand,  and  addressing  the 
company  generally,  drank  the  interesting  toast  of  "  Good 
Markets,"  to  the  party  assembled. 

"  The  better  that  the  wind  blew  fewer  dealers  from  the  north," 
said  one  of  the  farmers,  "  and  fewer  Highland  runts  to  eat  up 
the  English  meadows." 

"  Saul  of  my  pody,  put  you  are  wrang  there,  my  friend,"  an- 


J 38  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

swered  Robin,  with  composure  ;  ii  is  your  fat  Englishmen  that 
eat  up  our  Scots  cattle,  puir  things." 

"  I  wish  there  was  a  summat  to  eat  up  their  drovers,"  said 
another;  "a  plain  Englishman  canna  make  bread  within  3 
kenning  of  them." 

"  Or  an  honest  servant  keep  his  master's  favor,  but  they 
will  come  sliding  in  between  him  and  the  sunshine,"  said  the 
bailiff. 

"  If  these  pe  jokes,"  said  Robin  Oig.  with  the  same  composure, 
"  there  is  ower  mony  jokes  upon  one  man." 

*  It  is  no  joke,  but  downright  earnest,"  said  the  bailiff. 
"  Harkye,  IMr.  Robin  Ogg,  or  whatever  is  your  name,  it's  right 
we  should  tell  you  that  we  are  all  of  one  opinion,  and  that  is, 
that  you,  Mr.  Robin  Ogg,  have  behaved  to  our  friend,  Mr. 
Harry  Wakefield  here,  like  a  raff  and  a  blackguard." 

"  Nae  doubt,  nae  doubt,"  answered  Robin,  with  great  com- 
posure ;  "  and  you  are  a  set  of  very  pretty  judges,  for  whose 
prains  or  pehavior  I  wad  not  gie  a  pinch  of  sneeshing.  If  Mr. 
Harry  Waakfelt  kens  where  he  is  wranged,  he  kens  where  he 
may  be  righted." 

"  He  speaks  truth,"  said  Wakefield,  who  had  listened  to 
what  passed  divided  between  the  offence  which  he  had  taken  at 
Robin's  late  behavior,  and  the  revival  of  his  habitual  feelings 
of  regard. 

He  now  arose,  and  went  toward  Robin,  who  got  up  from 
his  seat  as  he  approached,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  That's  right,  Harry — go  it — serve  him  out,"  resounded  on 
all  sides — "tip  him  the  nailer — show  him  the  mill." 

"  Hold  your  peace  all  of  you,  and  be ,"  said  Wakefield ; 

and  then  addressing  his  comrade,  he  took  him  by  the  extended 
hand,  with  something  alike  of  respect  and  defiance,  ''Robin,"  he 
said,  "  thou  hast  used  me  ill  enough  this  day  ;  but  if  you  mean, 
like  a  frank  fellow,  to  shake  hands,  and  make  a  tussle  for  love 
on  the  sod,  why  I'll  forgie  thee,  man,  and  we  shall  be  better 
friends  than  ever." 

"And  would  it  not  pe  petter  to  pe  cood  friends  without 
more  of  the  matter  ?"  said  Robin  ;  "  we  will  be  much  petter 
friendships  with  our  panes  hale  than  proken." 

Harry  Wakefield  dropped  the  hand  of  his  friend,  or  rather 
threw  it  from  him. 

"  I  did  not  think  I  had  been  keeping  company  for  three 
years  with  a  coward." 

"  Coward  pelongs  to  none  of  my  name,"  said  Robin,  whose 
eyes  began  to  kindle,  but  keeping  the  command  of  his  temper. 
"It    was    no  coward's  legs   or  hands,    Harry   Waakfelt,  that 


THE   TWO  DROVERS.  139 

drew  you  out  of  the  fords  of  Frew,  when  you  was  drifting  ower 
the  plack  rock,  and  every  eel  in  the  river  expected  his  share 
of  you." 

"  And  that  is  true  enough,  too, "said  the  Englishman,  struck 
by  the  appeal. 

"Adzooks  !  "  exclaimed  the  bailiff — "  sure  Harry  Wakefield, 
the  nattiest  lad  at  Whitson  Tryste,  Wooler  Fair,  Carlisle  Sands, 
or  Stagshaw  Bank,  is  not  going  to  show  white  feather  ?  Ah,  this 
comes  of  living  so  long  with  kilts  and  bonnets — men  forget  the 
use  of  their  daddies." 

"I  may  teach  you,  Master  Fleecebumpkin,  that  I  have  not 
lost  the  use  of  mine,"  said  Wakefield,  and  then  went  on.  "  This 
will  never  do,  Robin.  We  must  have  a  turn-up,  or  we  shall  be 
the  talk  of  the  country-side.  I'll  be  d — d  if  I  hurt  thee — I'll  put 
on  the  gloves  gin  thou  like.    Come,  stand  forward  like  a  man." 

To  pe  peaten  like  a  dog,"  said  Robin  ;  "  is  there  any  reason 
in  that  ?  if  you  think  I  have  done  you  wrong  I'll  go  before 
your  shudge,  though  I  neither  know  his  law  nor  his  language." 

A  general  cry  of  "  No,  no — no  law,  no  lawyer  !  a  bellyful 
and  be  friends,"  was  echoed  by  the  bystanders. 

"  But,"  continued  Robin,  "  if  I  am  to  fight,  I've  no  skill  to 
fight  like  a  jackanapes,  with  hands  and  nails." 

"  How  would  you  fight  then  ?  "  said  his  antagonist ;  *'  though 
I  am  thinking  it  would  be  hard  to  bring  you  to  the  scratch  any 
how." 

"  I  would  fight  with  proadswords,  and  sink  point  on  the  first 
plood  drawn — like  a  gentlemans." 

A  loud  shout  of  laughter  followed  the  proposal,  which  in- 
deed had  rather  escaped  from  poor  Robin's  swelling  heart,  than 
been  the  dictate  of  his  sober  judgment. 

"  Gentleman,  quotha  !  "  was  echoed  on  all  sides,  with  a  shout 
of  unextinguishable  laughter;  "a  very  pretty  gentleman,  God 
wot — Canst  get  two  swords  for  the  gentleman  to  fight  with, 
Ralph  Heskett  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  send  to  the  armory  at  Carlisle,  and  lend  them 
two  forks,  to  be  making  shift  with  in  the  meantime." 

"Tush,  man,"  said  another,  "  the  bonny  Scots  come  into  the 
world  with  the  blue  bonnet  on  their  heads,  and  dirk  and  pistol 
at  their  belt." 

"  Best  send  post,"  said  Mr.  Fleecebumpkin,  "  to  the  Squire 
of  Corby  Castle,  to  come  and  stand  second  to  the  gejitleman." 

In  the  midst  of  this  torrent  of  general  ridicule,  the  High- 
lander instinctively  griped  beneath  the  folds  of  his  plaid. 

"But  it's  better  not,"  he  said  in  his  own  language.     "A 


r40  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

hundred  curses  on  the  swine-eaters,  who  know  neither  decency 

nor  civility  !  " 

"  Make  room,  the  pack  of  you,"  he  said,  advancing  to  the 
door. 

But  his  former  friend  interposed  his  sturdy  bulk,  and  opposed 
his  leaving  the  house;  and  when  Robin  Oig  attempted  to  make 
his  way  by  force,  he  hit  him  down  on  the  floor,  with  as  much 
ease  as  a  boy  bowls  down  a  nine-pin, 

"  A  ring,  a  ring!  "  was  now  shouted  until  the  dark  rafters, 
and  the  hams  that  hung  on  them,  trembled  again,  and  the  very 
platters  on  the  bink  clattered  against  each  other.  "Well  done, 
Harry," — "  Give  it  him  home,  Harry," — "  take  care  of  him 
now, — he  sees  his  own  blood  !  " 

Such  were  the  exclamations,  while  the  Highlander,  starting 
from  the  ground,  all  his  coldness  and  caution  lost  in  frantic 
rage,  sprung  at  his  antagonist  with  the  fury,  the  activity,  and 
the  vindictive  purpose,  of  an  incensed  tiger-cat.  But  when 
could  rage  encounter  science  and  temper  ?  Robin  Oig  again 
went  down  in  the  unequal  contest ;  and  as  the  blow  was  neces- 
sarily a  severe  one,  he  lay  motionless  on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen. 
The  landlady  ran  to  offer  some  aid,  but  Mr.  Fleecebumpkin 
would  not  permit  her  to  approach. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  he  said,  "  he  will  come  to  within  time, 
and  come  up  to  the  scratch  again.  He  has  not  got  half  his 
broth  yet." 

"  He  has  got  all  I  mean  to  give  him,  though,"  said  his  an- 
tagonist, whose  heart  began  to  relent  toward  his  old  associate  ; 
"  and  I  would  rather  by  half  give  the  rest  to  yourself,  Mr. 
Fleecebumpkin,  for  you  pretend  to  know  a  thing  or  two,  and 
Robin  had  not  art  enough  even  to  peel  before  setting  to,  but 
fought  with  his  plaid  dangling  about  him. — Stand  up,  Robin,  my 
man  !  all  friends  now;  and  let  me  hear  the  man  that  will  speak 
a  word  against  you,  or  your  country,  for  your  sake." 

Robin  Oig  was  still  under  the  dominion  of  his  passion,  and 
eager  to  renew  the  onset;  but  being  withheld  on  the  one  side 
by  the  peace-making  Dame  Heskett,  and  on  the  other,  aware 
that  Wakefield  no  longer  meant  to  renew  the  combat,  his  fury 
sunk  into  gloomy  sullenness. 

"  Come,  come,  never  grudge  so  much  at  it,  man,"  said  the 
brave-spirited  Knglishman,  with  the  placability  of  his  country; 
*'  shake  hands,  and  we  \\\\\  be  better  friends  than  ever." 

"Friends  !  "  exclaimed  Robin  Oig,  with  strong  emphasis — 
"friends! — Never.     Look  to  yourself,  Harry  Waakfelt." 

"  Then  the  curse  of  Cromwell  on  your  proud  Scots  stomach, 
as  the  man  says  in  the  play,  and  you  may  do  your  worst,  and 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


\^^ 


be  d — d  !  for  one  man  can  say  nothing  more  to  another  after  a 
tussle,  than  that  he  is  sorry  for  it." 

On  these  terms  the  friends  parted ;  Robin  Oig  drew  out,  in 
silence,  a  piece  of  money,  threw  it  on  the  table,  and  then  left 
the  alehouse.  But  turning  at  the  door,  he  shook  his  hand  at 
Wakefield,  pointing  with  his  forefinger  upward,  in  a  manner 
which  might  imply  either  a  threat  or  a  caution.  He  then  dis 
appeared  in  the  moonlight. 

Some  words  passed  after  his  departure,  between  the  bailiff, 
who  piqued  himself  on  being  a  little  of  a  bully,  and  Harry 
Wakefield,  who,  with  generous  inconsistency,  was  now  not  in- 
disposed to  begin  a  new  combat  in  defence  of  Robin  Oig's 
reputation,  "  although  he  could  not  use  his  daddies  like  an 
Englishman,  as  it  did  not  come  natural  to  him."  But  Dame 
Heskett  prevented  this  second  quarrel  from  coming  to  a  head 
by  her  peremptory  interference.  '•  There  should  be  no  more 
fighting  in  her  house,"  she  said  ;  "  there  had  been  too  much 
already. — And  you.  Mi*.  Wakefield,  may  live  to  learn,"  she 
added,  "  what  it  is  to  make  a  deadly  enemy  out  of  a  good 
friend." 

"  Pshaw,  dame  !  Robin  Oig  is  an  honest  fellow,  and  will 
never  keep  malice." 

"  Do  not  trust  to  that — you  do  not  know  the  dour  temper  of 
the  Scots,  though  you  have  dealt  with  them  so  often.  I  have  a 
right  to  know  them,  my  mother  being  a  Scot." 

"  And  so  is  well  seen  on  her  daughter,"  said  Ralph 
Heskett. 

This  nuptial  sarcasm  gave  the  discourse  another  turn ;  fresh 
customers  entered  the  tap-room  or  kitchen,  and  others  left  it. 
The  conversation  turned  on  the  expected  markets,  and  the 
report  of  prices  from  different  parts  both  of  Scotland  and  Eng- 
land— treaties  were  commenced,  and  Harry  Wakefield  was 
lucky  enough  to  find  a  chap  for  a  part  of  his  drove,  and  at  a 
very  considerable  profit  ;  an  event  of  consequence  more  than 
sufficient  to  blot  out  all  remembrances  of  the  unpleasant  scuffie 
in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day.  But  there  remained  one  party 
from  whose  mind  that  recollection  could  not  have  been  wiped 
away  by  the  possession  of  every  head  of  cattle  betwixt  Esk  and 
Eden. 

This  was  Robin  Oig  M'Combich — "  That  I  should  have 
had  no  weapon,"  he  said,  "  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  ! — • 
Blighted  be  the  tongue  that  bids  the  Highlander  part  with  the 
dirk — the  dirk — ha  !  the  English  blood  ! — My  Muhme's  word— « 
when  did  her  word  fall  to  the  ground  ?  " 


t42  THE  TWO  D ROVERS. 

The  recollection  of  the  fatal  prophecy  confirmed  the  deadly 
intention  which  instantly  sprung  up  in  his  mind. 

"  Ha !  Morrison  cannot  be  many  miles  behind  ;  and  if  it 
were  a  hundred,  what  then  ?  " 

His  impetuous  spirit  had  now  a  fixed  purpose  and  motive  of 
action,  and  he  turned  the  light  foot  of  his  country  toward  the 
wilds,  through  which  he  knew,  by  Mr.  Ireby's  report,  that  Mor- 
rison was  advancing.  His  mind  was  wholly  engrossed  by  the 
sense  of  injury — injury  sustained  from  a  friend  ;  and  by  the 
desire  of  vengeance  on  one  whom  he  now  accounted  his  most 
bitter  enemy.  The  treasured  ideas  of  self-importance  and 
self-opinion — of  ideal  birth  and  quality,  had  become  more 
precious  to  him,  like  the  hoard  to  the  miser,  because  he  could 
only  enjoy  them  in  secret.  But  that  hoard  was  pillaged,  the 
idols  which  he  had  secretly  worshipped  had  been  desecrated 
and  profaned.  Insulted,  abused,  and  beaten,  he  was  no  longer 
worthy,  in  his  own  opinion,  of  the  name  he  bore,  or  the  lineage 
which  he  belonged  to — nothing  was  left  to  him — nothing  but 
revenge  ;  and,  as  the  reflection  added  a  galling  spur  to  every 
step,  he  determined  it  should  be  as  sudden  and  signal  as  the 
offence. 

When  Robin  Oig  left  the  door  of  the  alehouse,  seven  or  eight 
English  miles  at  least  lay  betwixt  Morrison  and  him.  The 
advance  of  the  former  was  slow,  limited  by  the  sluggish  pace 
of  his  cattle  ;  the  last  left  behind  him  stubble-field  and  hedge- 
row, crag  and  dark  heath,  all  glittering  with  frost-rime  in  the 
broad  November  moonlight,  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour. 
And  now  the  distant  lowing  of  Morrison's  cattle  is  heard  ;  and 
now  they  are  seen  creeping  like  moles  in  size  and  slowness  of 
motion  on  the  broad  face  of  the  moor  ;  and  now  he  meets  them 
— passes  them,  and  stops  their  conductor. 

"  May  good  betide  us,"  said  the  Southlander — ''  Is  this  you, 
Robin  M'Combich,  or  your  wraith  .<*  " 

"  It  is  Robin  Oig  M'Combich,"  answered  the  Highlander, 
"  and  it  is  not. — But  never  mind  that,  put  pe  giving  me  the 
skene-dhu." 

"  What  !  you  are  for  back  to  the  Highlands — The  devil  !  — 
Have  you  selt  all  off  before  the  fair  .-'  This  beats  all  for  quick 
markets  !  " 

"  I  have  not  sold — I  am  not  going  north — May  pe  I  will 
never  go  north  again. — Give  me  pack  my  dirk,  Hugh  Morrison, 
or  there  will  pe  words  petween  us." 

"  Indeed,  Robin,  I'll  be  better  advised  before  I  gie  it  back 
to  you — it  is  a  wanchancy  weapon  in  a  Highlandman's  hand, 
and  I  am  thinking  you  will  be  about  some  barns-breaking," 


THE  TWO  DROVERS,  14- 

"  Prutt,  trutt  !  let  me  have  my  weapon,"  said  Robin  Oig,  im- 
patiently. 

"  Hooly  and  fairly,"  said  his  well-meaning  friend.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  will  do  better  then  these  dirking  doings — Ye  ken  High- 
lander, and  Lowlander,  and  Border-men,  are  a'  ae  man's  bairns 
Vvhen  you  are  over  the  Scots  dyke.  See,  the  Eskdale  callauts, 
and  fighting  Charlie  of  Liddesdale,  and  the  Lockerby  lads,  and 
the  four  Dandies  of  Lustruther,  and  a  wheen  mair  gray  plaids, 
are  coming  up  behind,  and  if  you  are  wranged,  there  is  the 
hand  of  a  Manly  Morrison,  we'll  see  you  righted,  if  Carlisle 
and  Stanwix  baith  took  up  the  feud." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Robin  Oig,  desirous  of  eluding 
the  suspicions  of  his  friend,  "  I  have  enlisted  wjth  a  party  of  the 
Black  Watch,  and  must  march  off  to-morrow  uiorning." 

"  Enlisted  !  Were  you  mad  or  drunk  t — You  must  buy  your- 
self off — I  can  lend  you  twenty  notes,  and  twenty  to  that,  if  the 
drove  sell." 

"  I  thank  you — thank  ye,  Hughie  ;  but  I  go  with  good  will 
the  gate  that  I  am  going, — so  the  dirk — the  dirk  !  " 

"  There  it  is  for  you  then,  since  less  wunna  serve.  But 
think  on  what  I  was  saying. — Waes  me,  it  will  be  sair  news  in 
the  Braes  of  Balquidder,  that  Robin  Oig  M'Combich  should 
have  run  an  ill  gate,  and  ta'en  on." 

"  III  news  in  Balquidder,  indeed  !  "  echoed  poor  Robin. 
"  But  Cot  speed  you,  Hughie,  and  send  you  good  marcats.  Ye 
winna  meet  with  Robin  Oig  again,  either  at  tryste  or  fair." 

So  saying,  he  shook  hastily  the  hand  of  his  acquaintance, 
and  set  out  in  the  direction  from  which  he  had  advanced,  with 
the  spirit  of  his  former  pace. 

"  There  is  something  wrang  with  the  lad,"  muttered  the 
Morrison  to  himself  ;  "  but  we'll  maybe  see  better  into  it  the 
morn's  morning." 

But  long  ere  the  morning  dawned,  the  catastrophe  of  our  tale 
had  taken  place.  It  was  two  or  three  hours  after  the  affray  Jiad 
happened,  and  it  was  totally  forgotten  by  almost  every  one,  when 
Robin  Oig  returned  to  Heskett's  inn.  The  place  was  filled  at 
once  by  various  sorts  of  men,  and  with  noises  corresponding  to 
their  character.  There  were  the  grave  low  sounds  of  men  en- 
gaged in  busy  traffic,  with  the  laugh,  the  song,  and  the  riotous 
jest  of  those  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  themselves. 
Among  the  last  was  Harry  Wakefield,  who,  amidst  a  grinning 
group  of  smock-frocks,  hobnailed  shoes,  and  jolly  English 
physiognomies,  was  trolling  forth  the  old  ditty, 

**  What  tlKHinh  my  name  lie  l\i)gcr, 
Who  drives  the  plough  and  cart"— 


144 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  well-known  voice  saying  in  a 
high  and  stern  tone,  marked  by  the  sharp  Highland  accent, 
"  Harry  Waakfelt — if  you  be  a  man,  stand  up  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? — what  is  it  ?  "  the  guests  demanded 
of  each  other. 

"  It  is  only  a  d — d  Scotsman,"  said  Fleecebumpkin,  who 
was  by  this  time  very  drunk,  "  whom  Harry  Wakefield  helped 
to  his  broth  the  day,  who  is  now  come  to  have  his  cauld  kail 
het  again." 

"  Harry  Waakfelt,"  repeated  the  same  ominous  summons, 
"  stand  up,  if  you  be  a  man  !  " 

There  is  something  in  the  tone  of  deep  and  concentrated 
passion,  which  attracts  attention  and  imposes  awe,  even  by  the 
very  sound.  The  guests  shrunk  back  on  every  side,  and  gazed 
at  the  Highlander  as  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  them,  his  brows 
bent,  and  his  features  rigid  with  resolution. 

"  I  will  stand  up  with  all  my  heart,  Robin,  my  boy,  but  it 
shall  be  to  shake  hands  with  you,  and  drink  down  all  unkind- 
ness.  It  is  not  the  fault  of  your  heart,  man,  that  you  don't 
know  how  to  clench  your  hands." 

By  this  time  he  stood  opposite  to  his  antagonist ;  his  open 
and  unsuspecting  look  strangely  contrasted  with  the  stern  pur- 
pose, whicn  gleamed  wild,  dark,  and  vindictive  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Highlander. 

"  'Tis  not  thy  fault,  man,  that,  not  having  the  luck  to  be  an 
Englishman,  thou  canst  not  fight  more  than  a  school-girl." 

"  I  can  fight,"  answered  Robin  Oig  sternly,  but  calmly, 
"  and  you  shall  know  it.  You,  Harry  Waakfelt,  showed  me 
to-day  how  the  Saxon  churls  fight — I  show  you  now  how  the 
Highland  Dunnife-wassel  fights." 

He  seconded  the  word  with  the  action,  and  plunged  the 
dagger,  which  he  suddenly  displayed,  into  the  broad  breast  of 
the  English  yeoman,  with  such  fatal  certainty  and  force,  that 
the  hilt  made  a  hollow  sound  against  the  breast-bone,  and  the 
double-edged  point  split  the  very  heart  of  his  victim.  Harry 
Wakefield  fell  and  expired  with  a  single  groan.  His  assassin 
next  seized  the  bailiff  by  the  collar,  and  offered  the  bloody 
poniard  to  his  throat,  whilst  dread  and  surprise  rendered  the 
man  incapable  of  defence. 

"It  were  very  just  to  lay  you  beside  him,"  he  said,  "but 
the  blood  of  a  base  pick-thank  shall  never  mix  on  my  father's 
dirk  with  that  of  a  brave  man." 

As  he  spoke,  he  cast  the  man  from  him  with  so  much  force 
that  he  fell  on  the  fioor,  while  Robin,  with  his  other  hand, 
threw  the  fatal  weapon  into  the  blazing  turf-fire. 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


US 


** There,"  he  said,  "take  me  who  hkes — and  let  fire  cleanse 
blood  if  it  can." 

The  pause  of  astonishment  still  continuing,  Robin  Oig 
asked  for  a  peace-officer;  and  a  constable  having  stepped  out, 
he  surrendered  himself  to  his  custody. 

"  A  bloody  night's  work  you  have  made  of  it,"  said  the  con- 
stable. 

"  Your  own  fault,"  said  the  Highlander.  "  Had  you  kept 
his  hands  off  me  twa  hours  since  he  would  have  been  now  as 
well  and  merry  as  he  was  twa  minutes  since." 

"  It  must  be  sorely  answered,"  said  the  peace-officer. 

"  Never  you  mind  that — death  pays  all  debts ;  it  will  pay 
that  too." 

The  horror  of  the  bystanders  began  now  to  give  way  to  indig- 
nation ;  and  the  sight  of  a  favorite  companion  murdered  in  the 
midst  of  them,  the  provocation  being,  in  their  opinion,  so  utterly 
inadequate  to  the  excess  of  vengeance,  might  have  induced  them 
to  kill  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed  even  upon  the  very  spot. 
The  constable,  however,  did  his  duty  on  this  occasion,  and,  with 
the  assistance  of  some  of  the  more  reasonable  persons  present, 
procured  horses  to  guard  the  prisoner  to  Carlisle,  to  abide  his 
doom  at  the  next  assizes.  While  the  escort  was  preparing,  the 
prisoner  neither  expressed  the  least  interest  nor  attempted  the 
slightest  reply.  Only  before  he  w^as  carried  from  the  fatal  apart- 
ment, he  desired  to  look  at  the  dead  body,  which,  raised  from  the 
floor,  had  been  deposited  upon  the  large  table  (at  the  head  of 
which  Harry  Wakefield  had  presided  but  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, full  of  life,  vigor,  and  animation)  until  the  surgeons 
should  examine  the  mortal  wound.  The  face  of  the  corpse  was 
decently  covered  with  a  napkin.  To  the  surprise  and  horror  of 
the  bystanders,  which  displayed  itself  in  a  general  Ah  !  drawn 
through  clenched  teeth  and  half-shut  lips,  Robin  Oig  removed 
the  cloth,  and  gazed  with  a  mournful  but  steady  eye  on  the 
lifeless  visage,  which  had  been  so  lately  animated,  that  the  smile 
of  good-humored  confidence  in  his  own  strength,  of  conciliation 
at  once,  and  contempt  toward  his  enemy,  still  curled  his  lip. 
While  those  present  expected  that  the  wound,  which  had  so 
lately  flooded  the  apartment  with  gore,  would  send  forth  fresh 
streams  at  the  touch  of  the  homicide,  Robin  Oig  replaced  the 
covering,  with  the  brief  exclamation — "  He  was  a  pretty  man  !  " 

My  story  is  nearly  ended.  The  unfortunate  Highlander 
stood  his  trial  at  Carlisle.  I  was  myself  present,  and  as  a  young 
Scottish  lawyer,  or  barrister  at  least,  and  reputed  a  man  of  some 
quality,  the  politeness  of  the  Sheriff  of  Cumberland  offered  me  a 
place  on  the  bench.     The  facts  of  the  case  were  proved  in  the 


,^6  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

manner  I  have  related  them  ;  and  whatever  might  be  at  first 
the  prejudice  of  the  audience  against  a  crime  so  un-English  as 
that  of  assassination  from  revenge,  yet  when  the  rooted  national 
prejudices  of  the  prisoner  had  been  explained,  which  made  him 
consider  himself  as  stained  with  indelible  dishonor,  when 
subjected  to  personal  violence  ;  when  his  previous  patience, 
moderation,  and  endurance,  were  considered,  the  generosity  of 
the  English  audience  was  inclined  to  regard  his  crime  as  the 
wayward  aberration  of  a  false  idea  of  honor  rather  than  as 
flowing  from  a  heart  naturally  savage,  or  perverted  by  habitual 
vice.  I  shall  never  forget  the  charge  of  the  venerable  Judge  to 
the  jury,  although  not  at  that  time  liable  to  be  much  affected 
either  by  that  which  was  eloquent  or  pathetic. 

"  We  have  had,"  he  said,  "  in  the  previous  part  of  our  duty  " 
(alluding  to  some  former  trials),  "  to  discuss  crimes  which  infer 
disgust  and  abhorrence,  while  they  call  down  the  well-merited 
vengeance  of  the  law.  It  is  now  our  still  more  melancholy 
task  to  apply  its  salutary  though  severe  enactments  to  a  case  of 
a  very  singular  character,  in  which  the  crime  (for  a  crime  it  is, 
and  a  deep  one)  arose  less  out  of  the  malevolence  of  the  heart, 
than  the  error  of  the  understanding — less  from  any  idea  of 
committing  wrong,  than  from  an  unhappily  perverted  notion  of 
that  which  is  right.  Here  we  have  two  men,  highly  esteemed, 
it  has  been  stated,  in  their  rank  of  life,  and  attached,  it  seems, 
to  each  other  as  friends,  one  of  whose  lives  has  been  already 
sacrificed  to  a  punctilio,  and  the  other  is  about  to  prove  the 
vengeance  of  the  offended  laws ;  and  yet  both  may  claim  our 
commiseration  at  least,  as  men  acting  in  ignorance  of  each 
other's  national  prejudices,  and  unhappily  misguided  rather 
than  voluntarily  erring  from  the  path  of  right  conduct. 

"  In  the  original  cause  of  the  misunderstanding,  we  must  in 
justice  give  the  right  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  He  had 
acquired  possession  of  the  enclosure,  which  was  the  object  of 
competition,  by  a  legal  contract  with  the  proprietor,  Mr.  Ireby ; 
and  yet,  when  accosted  with  reproaches  undeserved  in  them.- 
selves,  and  galling  doubtless  to  a  temper  at  least  sufficiently 
susceptible  of  passion,  he  offered  notwithstanding  to  yield  up 
half  his  acquisition,  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  good  neighbor- 
hood, and  his  amicable  proposal  was  rejected  with  scorn.  Then 
follows  the  scene  at  Mr.  Heskett  the  publican's,  and  you  will 
observe  how  the  stranger  was  treated  by  the  deceased,  and,  1 
am  sorry  to  observe,  by  those  around,  who  seemed  to  have  urged 
him  in  a  manner  which  was  aggravating  in  the  highest  degree. 
While  he  asked  for  peace  and  for  composition,  and  offered 
submission  to  a  magistrate,  or  to  a  mutual  arbiter,  the  prisoner 


< 


I 


THE  TWO  DROVe'j^S.  1 47 

was  insulted  by  a  whole  company,  who  seem  on  this  occasion 
to  have  forgotten  the  national  maxim  of  '  fair  play  ';  and  while 
attempting  to  escape  from  the  place  in  peace,  he  was  intercepted, 
struck  down,  and  beaten  to  the  effusion  of  his  blood. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Jurj^,  it  was  with  some  impatience  that 
I  heard  my  learned  brother,  who  opened  the  case  for  the  crown, 
give  an  unfavorable  turn  to  the  prisoner's  conduct  on  this 
occasion.  He  said  the  prisoner  was  afraid  to  encounter  his 
antagonist  in  fair  fight,  or  to  submit  to  the  laws  of  the  ring  ; 
and  that,  therefore,  like  a  cowardly  Italian,  he  had  recourse  to 
his  fatal  stiletto,  to  murder  the  man  whom  he  dared  not  meet 
in  manly  encounter.  I  observed  the  prisoner  shrink  from  this 
part  of  the  accusation  with  the  abhorrence  natural  to  a  brave 
man  ;  and  as  I  would  wish  to  make  my  words  impressive,  when 
I  point  his  real  crime,  I  must  secure  his  opinion  of  my  im- 
partiality, by  rebutting  everything  that  seems  to  me  a  false 
accusation.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  prisoner  is  a  man 
of  resolution — too  much  resolution — I  wish  to  Heaven  that 
he  had  less,  or  rather  that  he  had  had  a  better  education  to  reg- 
ulate it. 

"  Gentlemen,  as  to  the  laws  my  brother  talks  of,  they  may 
be  known  in  the  Bull-ring,  or  the  Bear-garden,  or  the  Cockpit, 
but  they  are  not  known  here.  •  Or,  if  they  should  be  so  far 
admitted  as  furnishing  a  species  of  proof  that  no  malice  was 
intended  in  this  sort  of  combat,  from  which  fatal  accidents  do 
sometimes  arise,  it  can  only  be  so  admitted  when  both  parties 
are  in  pari  ccrsu,  equally  acquainted  with,  and  equally  willing 
to  refer  themselves  to,  that  species  of  arbitrament.  But  will  it 
be  contended  that  a  man  of  superior  rank  and  education  is  to 
be  subjected,  or  is  obliged  to  subject  himself,  to  this  coarse  and 
brutal  strife,  perhaps  in  opposition  to  a  younger,  stronger,  or 
more  skilful  opponent.  Certainly  even  the  pugilistic  code,  if 
founded  upon  the  fair  play  of  Merry  Old  England,  as  mv 
brother  alleges  it  to  be,  can  contain  nothing  so  preposterous. 
And,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  the  laws  would  support  an 
English  gentleman,  wearing,  we  will  suppose,  his  sword,  in 
defending  himself  by  force  against  a  violent  personal  aggression 
of  the  nature  offered  to  this  prisoner,  they  will  not  less  protect 
a  foreigner  and  a  stranger,  involved  in  the  same  unpleasing 
circumstances.  If,  therefore,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  when  thus 
pressed  by  a  vis  major,  the  object  of  obloquy  to  a  whole  com- 
pany, and  of  direct  violence  from  one  at  least,  and,  as  he 
might  reasonably  apprehend,  from  more,  the  panel  had  pro- 
duced the  weapon  which  his  countrymen,  as  we  are  informed, 


,48  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

generally  carry  about  their  persons,  and  the  same  unhappy 
circumstance  had  ensued  which  you  have  heard  detailed  in 
evidence,  I  could  not  in  my  conscience  have  asked  from  you  a 
verdict  of  murder.  The  prisoner's  personal  defence  might, 
indeed,  even  in  that  case,  have  gone  more  or  less  beyond  the 
Moderamen  inculpatce  tutehe,  spoken  of  by  lawyers,  but  the 
punishment  incurred  would  have  been  that  of  manslaughter, 
not  of  murder.  I  beg  leave  to  add,  that  I  should  have  thought 
this  milder  species  of  charge  was  demanded  in  the  case  sup- 
posed, notwithstanding  the  statute  of  James  I.  cap.  8,  which 
takes  the  case  of  slaughter  by  stabbing  with  a  short  weapon, 
even  without  malice  prepense,  out  of  the  benefit  of  clergy.  For 
this  statute  of  stabbing,  as  it  is  termed,  arose  out  of  a  temporary 
cause ;  and  as  the  real  guilt  is  the  same,  whether  the  slaughter 
be  committed  by  the  dagger,  or  by  sword  or  pistol,  the  be- 
nignity of  the  modern  law  places  them  all  on  the  same,  or 
nearly  the  same  footing. 

"  But,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  pinch  of  the  case  lies  in 
the  interval  of  two  hours  interposed  betwixt  the  reception  of 
the  injury  and  the  fatal  retaliation.  In  the  heat  of  affray  and 
chamie  inelee,  law,  compassionating  the  infirmities  of  humanity, 
makes  allowance  for  the  passions  which  rule  such  a  stormy 
moment — for  the  sense  of  present  pain,  for  the  apprehension 
of  further  injury,  for  the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  with  due 
accuracy  the  precise  degree  of  violence  which  is  necessary  to 
protect  the  person  of  the  individual,  without  annoying  or  in- 
juring the  assailant  more  than  is  absolutely  requisite.  But  the 
time  necessary  to  walk  twelve  miles,  however  speedily  per- 
formed, was  an  interval  sufficient  for  the  prisoner  to  have 
recollected  himself ;  and  the  violence  with  which  he  carried  his 
purpose  into  effect,  with  so  many  circumstances  of  deliberate 
determination,  could  neither  be  induced  by  the  passion  of  anger, 
nor  that  of  fear.  It  was  the  purpose  and  the  act  of  predeter- 
mined revenge,  for  which  law  neither  can,  will,  nor  ought,  to 
have  sympathy  or  allowance. 

"  It  is  true,  we  may  repeat  to  ourselves,  in  alleviation  of  this 
poor  man's  unhappy  action,  that  his  case  is  a  very  peculiar  one. 
The  country  which  he  inhabits,  was  in  the  days  of  many  now 
alive,  inaccessible  to  the  laws,  not  only  of  England,  which  have 
not  even  yet  penetrated  thither,  but  to  those  to  which  our 
neighbors  of  Scotland  are  subjected,  and  which  must  be  sup- 
posed to  be,  and  no  doubt  actually  are,  founded  upon  the 
general  principles  of  justice  and  equity  which  pervade  every 
civilized  country.      Amongst  their   mountains,  as  among  the 


J 


THE  TWO  DROVERS.  I49 

North  American  Indians,  tiie  various  tribes  were  wont  to  make 
war  upon  each  other,  so  that  each  man  was  obliged  to  go  armed 
for  his  own  protection.  These  men,  from  the  ideas  which  they 
entertained  of  their  own  descent  and  of  their  own  consequence, 
regarded  tliemselves  as  so  many  cavaliers  or  men-at-arms, 
rather  than  as  the  peasantry  of  a  peaceful  country.  Those  laws 
of  the  ring,  as  my  brother  terms  them,  were  unknown  to  the 
race  oi  warlike  mountaineers ;  that  decision  of  quarrels  by  no 
other  weapons  than  those  which  nature  has  given  every  man, 
must  to  them  have  seemed  as  vulgar  and  as  preposterous  as  to 
the  Noblesse  of  France.  Revenge,  on  the  other  hand,  must 
have  been  as  familiar  to  their  habits  of  society  as  to  those  of 
the  Cherokees  or  Mohawks.  It  is  indeed,  as  described  by 
Bacon,  at  bottom,  a  kind  of  wild  untutored  justice  ;  for  the 
fear  of  retaliation  must  withhold  the  hands  of  the  oppressor 
where  there  is  no  regular  law  to  check  daring  violence.  But 
though  all  this  may  be  granted,  and  though  we  may  allow  that, 
such  having  been  the  case  of  the  Highlands  in  the  days  of  the 
prisoner's  fathers,  many  of  the  opinions  and  sentiments  must 
still  continue  to  influence  the  present  generation,  it  cannot, 
and  ought  not,  even  in  this  most  painful  case,  to  alter  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  law,  either  in  your  hands,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  or  in  mine.  The  first  object  of  civilization  is  to  place  the 
general  protection  of  the  law,  equally  administered,  in  the 
room  of  that  wild  justice,  which  every  man  cut  and  carved  for 
himself,  according  to  the  length  of  his  sword  and  the  strength 
of  his  arm.  The  law  says  to  the  subjects,  with  a  voice  only 
inferior  to  that  of  the  Deity,  'Vengeance  is  mine.'  The  instant 
that  there  is  time  for  passion  to  cool,  and  reason  to  interpose, 
an  injured  party  must  become  aware,  that  the  law  assumes  the 
exclusive  cognizance  of  the  right  and  wrong  betwixt  the  parties, 
and  opposes  her  .inviolable  buckler  to  every  attempt  of  the  pri- 
vate party  to  right  himself.  I  repeat,  that  this  unhappy  man  ought 
personally  to  be  the  object  rather  of  our  pity  than  our  abhor- 
rence, for  he  failed  in  his  ignorance,  and  from  mistaken  notions 
of  honor.  But  his  crime  is  not  the  less  that  of  murder,  gentle- 
men, and  in  your  high  and  important  office,  it  is  your  duty  so 
to  find.  Englishmen  have  their  angry  passions  as  well  as  Scots  ; 
and  should  this  man's  action  remain  unpunished,  you  may 
unsheath,  under  various  pretences,  a  thousand  daggers  betwixt 
the  Land's-end  and  the  Orkneys." 

The  venerable  Judge  thus  ended  w^hat,  to  judge  by  his 
apparent  emotion,  and  by  the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes,  was 
really  a  painful  task.     The  jury,  according  to  his  instructions, 


ISO 


THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


brought  in  a  verdict  of  Guilty ;  and  Robin  Oig  M'Combich, 
alias  M'Gregor,  was  sentenced  to  death,  and  left  for  execution, 
which  took  place  accordingly.  He  met  his  fate  with  great 
firmness,  and  acknowledged  the  justice  of  his  sentence.  But 
he  repelled  indignantly  the  observations  of  those  who  accused 
him  of  attacking  an  unarmed  man.  "  I  give  a  life  for  the  life 
I  took,"  he  said,  "  and  what  can  I  do  more  ?  "  * 

*  Note.  Robert  Donn's  poem& 


NOTES  TO  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATF. 


Note  A,  p.  2. — Sanctuary  of  Holyrood 

The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  Hector  Boece's  narrative  of  the  origi- 
nal foundation  of  the  famous  Abbey  of  Holyrood,  or  the  Holy  Cross,  as 
given  in  Bellenden's  translation: — 

"  Eftir  death  of  Alexander  the  first,  his  brothir  David  come  out  of  Ing- 
land,  and  wes  crownit  at  Scone,  the  yeir  of  God  Mcxxiv  yeiris,  and  did 
gret  justice  eftir  his  corination,  in  all  partis  of  his  realme.  He  had  na 
weris  during  the  time  of  King  Hary  ;  and  wes  so  pietuous,  that  he  sat  day- 
lie  in  judgment,  to  caus  his  pure  commonis  to  have  justice;  and  causit  the 
actionis  of  his  noblis  to  be  decidit  be  his  othir  jugis.  He  gart  ilk  juge  re- 
dres  the  skaithis  that  come  to  the  party  be  his  wrang  sentence  ;  throw  quhilk 
he  decorit  his  realm  with  mony  nobil  actis,  and  ejeckit  the  vennomus  custome 
of  riotus  cheir,  quhilk  wes  inducit  afore  be  Inglismen,  quhen  they  com 
with  Quene  Margaret;  for  the  samin  was  noisum  toal  gud  maneris,  makand 
his  pepil  tender  and  effeminat. 

"  In  the  fourt  yeir  of  his  regne,  this  nobill  prince  come  to  visie  the 
madin  Castell  of  Edinburgh.  At  this  time,  all  the  boundis  of  Scotland  were 
ful  of  woddis,  lesouris,  and  medois;  for  the  countre  wes  more  gevin  to  store 
of  bestiall  than  ony  production  of  cornis;  and  about  this  castell  was  ane 
gret  forest,  full  of  haris,  hindis,  toddis,  and  sicklike  maner  of  bcistis.  Now 
was  the  Rude  Day  cumin,  called  the  Exaltation  of  the  Croce  ;  and,  becaus 
the  samin  was  ane  hie  solempne  day,  the  king  past  to  his  contem])lation. 
Eftir  the  messis  wer  done  with  maist  solemptnitie  and  reverence,  comperit 
afore  him  mony  young  and  insolen  baronis  of  Scotland,  richt  desirus  to  haif 
some  plesur  and  solace,  be  chace  of  hundis  in  the  said  forest.  At  this  time 
wes  with  the  king  ane  man  of  singulare  and  devoit  life,  namit  Alkwine, 
channon  eftir  the  ordour  of  Sanct  Aagustine,  quhilk  wes  lang  time  confcs- 
soure,  afore,  to  King  David  in  Ingland,  the  time  that  he  was  Erie  of  Ilunt- 
ingtoun  and  Northumbirlaiid.  This  religious  man  dissuadit  the  King,  be 
mony  reasonis,  to  pas  to  this  huntis  ;  and  allegit  the  day  was  so  solempne, 
be  reverence  of  the  haly  croce,  that  lie  suld  gif  him  erar,  for  that  day,  to 
contemplation,  than  ony  othir  exersition.  Wochthcles,  his  dissuasion  is 
littill  avalit ;  for  the  king  wes  finallie  so  provokit,  be  importune  solicita- 
tioun  of  his  baronis,  that  he  past,  nochtwithstanding  the  solcmpnite  of  this 
day,  to  his  hountis.  At  last,  quhen  he  was  cumin  throw  the  vail  that  lyis 
to  the  gret  eist  fra  the  said  castell,  quhare  now  lyis  the  C.inongait,  the  staik 
past  throw  the  wod  with  sic  noyis  and  din  of  rachis  and  bugillis,  that  all 
the  bestis  were  rasit  fra  thair  detniis.  Now  wes  the  king  cumin  to  the  fute 
of  the  crag,  and  all  his  nobilis  scverit,  heir  and  thair,  fra  him,  at  thair  game 
and  solace  ;  quhen  suddenlie  apperit  to  his  sicht,  the  fairist  hart  that  evir 


>52 


NOTES. 


wes  sene  afore  with  levand  creature.  The  noyis  and  din  of  this  hart 
rinnand,  as  apperit,  with  awful  and  braid  tindis,  maid  the  kingis  hors  so  ef- 
frayit,  that  na  renzeis  niiclit  hald  him  ;  but  ran,  iJcrforcc,  ouir  mire  and 
mossis,  away  with  the  l^ing.  Nochthclcs,  the  hart  followit  so  fast,  that  lie 
dang  baith  the  king  and  his  horse  to  the  ground.  Than  the  king  kest  abak 
his  handis  betwixt  the  tindis  of  this  hart,  to  haif  savit  him  fra  the  straik 
thairof ;  and  the  haly  croce  siaid,  incontinent,  in  his  handis.  The  hart  fled 
away  with  gret  violence,  and  evanist  in  the  same  place  qiihare  now  springis 
the  Rude  Well.  The  pejjil  richt  affrayitly,  rcturnit  to  him  out  of  a  1  partis 
of  the  wod,  to  comfort  him  eftir  his  trubill;  and  fell  on  kneis,  devotly 
adoring  the  haly  croce;  for  it  was  not  cumin  but  some  hevinly  providence. 
ab  Weill  apperis :  for  thair  is  na  man  can  schaw  of  quhat  mater  it  is  of,  metel 
or  tre.  Sone  eftir,  the  king  returnit  to  his  castell, ;  and  in  the  nicht  fol- 
lowing, he  was  admonist,  be  ane  vision  in  his  sleip,  to  big  ane  abbay  of 
channonis  regular  in  the  same  place  quhare  he  gat  the  croce.  Als  sone  as 
he  was  awalkinnit,  he  schew  his  visione  to  Alkwine,  his  confessoure  ;  and 
he  na  thing  suspended  his  gud  mind,  bot  erar  inflammit  him  with  maist 
fervent  devotion  thairto.  The  king,  incontinent,  send  his  traist  scrvandis 
in  France  and  Flanderis,  and  brocht  richt  crafty  masonis  to  big  this  abbay; 
syne  dedicat  it  in  the  honor  of  this  haly  croce.  The  croce  remanit  contine- 
wally  in  the  said  abbay,  to  the  time  of  King  David  Bruce  ;  quhilk  was 
unhappily  tane  with  it  at  Durame,  quhare  it  is  haldin  yit  in  gret  venera- 
tion."— BoECE,  book  12,  ch.    [6. 

It  is  by  no  means  clear  what  Scottish  prince  first  built  a  palace,  properly 
so  called,  in  the  precincts  of  this  renowned  seat  of  sanctity.  The  abbey, 
endowed  by  successive  sovereigns  and  many  powerful  nobles  with  munifi- 
cent gifts  of  lands  and  tithes,  came,  in  process  of  time,  to  be  one  of  the  most 
important  of  the  ecclesiastical  corporations  of  Scotland;  anJ  as  early  as  the 
days  of  Robert  Bruce,  parliaments  were  held  occasionally  within  its  build- 
ings. We  have  evidence  that  James  IV.  h.ul  a  royal  lodging  adjoining  to 
the  cloister;  but  it  is  generally  agreed  that  the  first  considerable  edifice 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  roval  family  erected  here  was  that  of 
James  V.,  anno  1525,  great  part  of  wiiich  still  remains,  and  forms  the  north- 
western side  of  the  existing  palace.  The  more  modern  buildings  which 
complete  the  quadrangle  were  erected  by  King  Charles  II.  The  nave  of 
the  old  conventual  church  was  used  as  the  parish  church  oi  the  Canongate 
from  the  ])eriod  of  the  Reformation,  until  James  II.  claimed  it  for  his 
chapel  royal,  and  h.id  it  fitted  up  accordingly  in  a  style  of  splendor  which 
grievously  outraged  the  feelings  of  his  Presbvterian  subjects.  The  roof  of 
this  fragment  of  a  once  magnificent  church  fell  in  the  year  1768,  and  it  has 
remained  ever  since  in  a  state  of  desolation. — For  fuller  particulars,  see  the 
Provincial  Antiquities  of  Scotland,  or  the  History  of  Holy  rood,  by  Mr. 
Ch.'VRLES  Mackie. 

The  greater  part  of  this  ancient  palace  is  now  again  occupied  by  his 
Majesty  Charles  the  Tenth  of  France,  and  the  rest  of  that  illustrious  family 
which,  in  former  ages  so  closely  connected  by  marriage  and  alliance  with 
the  House  of  Stuart,  seems  to  have  been  destined  to  run  a  similar  career 
of  misfortune.  Kequiescat  in  pace  !  [Since  the  date  of  the  above  note,  the 
Palace  of  Holyrood  has  on  several  occasions  been  honored  by  Queen 
Victoria,  as  well  as  by  George  IV.  on  his  visit  to  Scotland  in  1822. J 

Note  B,  p.    27. — Steele,  the  Covenanter. 

The  following  extract  from  Swift's  Life  ofCreichton  gives  the  particulars 
of  the  bloody  scene  alluded  to  in  the  text: — 

"  Having  drank  hard  one  night,  I  (Creichton)  dreamed  that  I  had  found 


NOTES.  153 

Captain  David  Steele,  a  notorious  rebel,  in  one  of  the  five  farmers'  houses 
on  a  mountain  in  the  shire  of  Clydesdale,  and  parish  of  Lismahago,  within 
eight  miles  of  Hamilton,  a  place  that  I  was  well  acquainted  with.  This 
man  was  head  of  the  rebels  since  the  affair  of  Airs-moss  ;  having  succeeded 
to  Hackston,  who  had  been  there  taken,  and  afterwards  hanged,  as  the 
reader  has  already  heard;  for,  as  to  Robert  Hamilton,  who  was  then  Com- 
mander-in-Chief at  Bothwell  Bridge,  he  appeared  no  more  among  them, 
but  fled,  as  it  was  believed,  to  Holland. 

"  Steele,  and  his  father  before  him,  held  a  farm  in  the  estate  of  Hamil- 
ton, within  two  or  three  miles  of  that  town.  When  he  betook  himself  to 
arms,  the  farm  lay  waste,  and  the  Duke  could  find  no  other  person  who 
would  venture  to  take  it:  whereupon  his  Grace  sent  several  messages  to 
Steele  to  know  the  reason  why  he  kept  the  farm  waste.  The  Duke  re- 
ceived no  other  answer  than  that  he  would  keep  it  waste,  in  spite  of  him 
and  the  king  too  ;  whereupon  his  Grace,  at  whose  table  I  had  always  the 
honor  to  be  a  welcome  guest,  desired  I  would  use  my  endeavors  to  destroy 
that  rogue,  and  I  would  oblige  him  forever. 

"  I  return  to  my  story.  When  I  awaked  out  of  my  dream,  as  I  had 
done  before  in  the  affair  of  Wilson  (and  I  desire  the  same  apology  I  made 
in  the  introduction  to  these  Memoirs  may  serve  for  both)  I  presently  rose 
and  ordered  thirty-six  dragoons  to  be  at  the  place  appointed  by  break  of 
day.  When  we  arrived  thither,  I  sent  a  party  to  each  of  the  five  farmers' 
houses.  This  villain  Steele  had  murdered  above  forty  of  the  king's  subjects 
in  cold  blood  ;  and,  as  I  was  informed,  had  often  laid  snares  to  entrap  me; 
but  it  happened,  that  although  he  usually  kept  a  gang  to  attend  him,  yet 
at  this  time  he  had  none,  when  he  stood  in  the  greatest  need.  One  of  the 
party  found  him  in  one  of  the  farmers'  houses,  just  as  I  happened  to  dream. 
The  dragoons  first  searched  all  the  rooms  below  without  success,  till  two 
of  thcTU  hearing  somebody  stirring  over  their  heads,  went  up  a  pair  of  turn- 
pike stairs.  Steele  had  put  on  his  clothes  while  the  search  was  making 
below;  the  chamber  where  he  lay  was  called  the  chamber  of  Deese,  which 
is  the  name  given  to  a  room  where  the  laird  lies  when  he  comes  to  a 
tenant's  house.  Steele,  suddenly  opening  a  door,  fired  a  blunderbuss  down 
at  the  two  dragoons  as  they  were  coming  up  the  stairs;  but  the  bullets 
grazing  against  the  side  of  the  turnpike,  only  wounded,  and  did  not  kill 
them.  Then  Steele  violently  threw  himself  down  the  stairs  among  them, 
and  made  toward  the  door  to  save  his  life,  but  lost  it  upon  the  spot  ;  for 
the  dragoons  who  guarded  the  house  despatched  him  with  their  broad- 
swords. I  was  not  with  the  party  when  he  was  killed,  being  at  that  time 
employed  in  searching  at  one  of  the  other  houses,  but  I  soon  found  what 
had  happened,  by  hearing  the  noise  of  the  shot  made  with  the  blunderbuss; 
from  whence  I  returned  straight  to  Lanark,  and  immediately  sent  one  of 
the  dragoous  express  to  General  Drummond  at  Edinburgh." — Swikt's 
Woi-ks,  vol.  xii.  (Memoirs  of  Captain  John  Creichton),  pages  57-59,  Edit. 
Edinb.    1824. 

Wodrow  gives  a  different  account  of  this  exploit — "  In  December  this 
year  (16S6),  David  Steil,  in  the  parish  of  Lismahagnw,  was  surprised  in  the 
fields  by  Lieutenant  Creichton,  and  after  his  surrender  of  himself  on 
quarters,  he  was  in  a  very  little  time  most  barbarously  shot,  and  lies  buried 
in  the  churchyard  there.'' 

Note  C,    p.  50. — Iron  Rasp. 

The  ingenious  Mr.  R.  Chambers,  in  his  Traditions 0/ Edinburgh,  givti 
the  following  account  of  the  forgotten  rasp  or  risp  : — 


1 54  NOTES. 

"  This  house  had  a/m  or  risp  at  the  door,  instead  of  the  more  modern 
convenience,  a  knocker.  The  pin.  rendered  interesting  by  the  figure  which 
it  makes  in  Scottish  song,  was  formed  of  a  small  rod  of  iron,  twisted  or 
notched,  which  was  placed  perpendicularly,  starting  out  a  little  from  the 
door,  and  bore  a  small  ring  of  the  same  metal,  which  an  applicant  for  ad- 
mittance drew  rapidly  up  and  down  the  nicks,  so  as  to  produce  a  grating 
sonnd.  Sometimes  the  rod  was  simply  stretched  across  the  vizzyhig  hole, 
a  convenient  aperture  through  which  the  porter  could  take  cognizance  of 
the  person  applying;  in  which  case  it  acted  also  as  a  stanchion.  These 
were  almost  all  disused  about  sixty  years  ago,  when  knockers  were  gener- 
ally substituted  as  more  genteel.  But  knockers  at  that  time  did  not  long 
remain  in  repute,  though  they  have  never  been  altogether  superseded,  even 
by  bells,  in  the  Old  Town.  The  comparative  merit  of  knockers  and  pins 
was  for  a  long  time  a  subject  of  doubt,  and  many  knockers  got  their  heads 
twisted  off  in  the  course  of  the  dispute." — Traditions  of  Edinburgh. 

Note  D,  p.  59.— Earl  of  Winton. 

The  incident  here  alluded  to  is  thus  narrated  in  Nichols'  Progresses  of 
James  /.,  vol,  iii.  p.  306. 

"  The  family  "  (of  Winton)  "  owed  its  first  elevation  to  the  union  of  Sir 
Christopher  Seton  with  a  sister  of  King  Robert  Bruce.  With  King  James 
V.  they  acquired  great  favor,  who,  having  created  his  brother  Earl  of  Dum- 
fermline  in  1599,  made  Robert,  seventh  Lord  Seton,  Earl  of  Wintoa  in 
1600.  Before  tlie  King's  accession  to  the  English  throne,  his  Majesty  and 
the  Queen  were  frequently  at  Seton,  where  the  Earl  kept  a  very  hospitable 
table,  at  which  all  foreigners  of  quality  were  entertained  on  their  visits  to 
Scotland.  His  Lordship  died  in  1603,  and  was  buried  on  the  5th  of  April, 
on  the  very  day  the  King  left  Edinburgh  for  England.  His  Majesty,  we 
are  told,  was  pleased  to  rest  himself  at  the  south-west  round  of  the  orchard 
of  Seton,  on  the  Highway,  till  the  funeral  was  over,  that  he  might  not  with- 
draw the  noble  company ;  and  he  said  that  he  had  lost  a  good,  faithful,  and 
loyal  subject." — Nichols'  Progresses  of  K.  James,,  vol.  iii.  p.  306. 

Note  E,  p.  60. — M'GitEGOR  of  Glenstrae. 

"The  2  of  Octr:  (1603)  Allaster  MacGregor  of  Glen=;trae  tane  be  the 
laird  Arkynles,  bot  escapit  againe ;  bot  after  taken  be  the  Earle  of  Argyll 
the  4  of  Januarii,  and  brought  to  Edr:  the  9  of  Januar:  1604,  wt:  i8  mae 
of  hes  frcndes  MacGregors.  He  was  convoyit  to  Berwick  be  the  gaird, 
conform  to  the  Earle's  promes;  for  he  promesit  to  put  him  out  of  Scottis 
grund:  Sua  he  keii)it  an  Hielandman's  promes  in  respect  he  sent  the  gaird 
to  convoy  him  out  of  Scottis  grund  ;  bot  yai  wer  not  directit  to  pairt  wt: 
him,  bot  to  fetche  him  bak  againe.  The  18  of  Januar,  he  came  at  evin 
againe  to  Edinburghe  ;  and  upone  the  20  day,  he  was  hangit  at  the  crosse, 
and  ij  of  his  friendes  and  name,  upon  ane  gallows  :  himself  being  chieff,  he 
was  hangit  his  awin  hight  above  the  rest  of  his  friendis." — Birrell's  Diary 
(in  Dalzell's  Fragments  of  Scottish  History),  pp.  60,  61. 

Note  F,  p.  96. — Fidelity  of  the  Highlanders. 

Of  tlie  strong  undeviating  attachment  of  the  Highlanders  to  the  person, 
and  their  deference  to  the  will  or  commands  of  their  chiefs  and  superiors — 
their  rigid  adherence  to  duty  and  principle — and  their  chivalrous  acts  of 
Self-devotion  to  these  in  the  face  of  dan<7er  and  death — there  are  many 
instances  recorded  in  General  Stewart  of  Garth's  interesting  Sketches  of  the 


NOl'ES.  155 

Highlanders  and  Highland  Regiments,  which  might  not  inaptly  supply 
parallels  to  the  deeds  of  the  Romans  themselves,  at  the  era  when  Rome 
svas  in  her  glory.  The  following  instances  of  such  are  worthy  of  being  here 
quoted: — 

"  In  the  year  1795,  ^  serious  disturbance  broke  out  in  Glasgow,  among 
the  Breadalbane  P'encibles.  Several  men,  having  been  confined  and 
threatened  with  corporal  punishment,  considerable  discontent  and  irritation 
were  excited  among  their  comrades,  which  increased  to  such  violence,  that 
when  some  men  were  confined  in  the  guard-house,  a  great  proportion  of 
the  regiment  rushed  out  and  forcibly  released  the  prisoners.  This  viola- 
tion  of  military  discipline  was  not  to  be  passed  over,  and  accordingly  meas- 
ures were  immediately  taken  to  secure  the  ringleaders.  But  so  many  were 
equally  concerned,  that  it  was  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  fix  the  crime 
on  any,  as  being  more  prominently  guilty.  And  here  was  shown  a  trait  of 
character  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  which  originated  fiom  a  feeling 
alive  to  the  disgrace  of  a  degrading  punishment.  The  soldiers  being  made 
sensible  of  the  nature  of  their  misconduct,  and  the  consequent  necessity  of 
public  example,  sez'eral  nicii  voluntarily  offered  themselves  to  stand  trial,  and 
suffer  the  sentence  of  the  law  as  an  atonem.ent  for  the  whole.  These  men 
were  accordingly  marched  to  Edinburgh  Castle,  tried,  and  four  condemned 
to  be  shot.  Three  of  them  were  afterward  reprieved,  and  the  fourth, 
Alexander  Sutherland,  was  shot  at  Musselburgh  Sands. 

"  The  following  demi-official  account  of  this  unfortunate  misunderstand- 
ing was  published  at  the  time  : — 

•"During  the  afternoon  of  Monday,  when  a  private  of  the  light  company 
of  the  Breadalbane  Fencibles,  who  had  been  confined  for  a  7nilitary  offence 
was  released  by  that  company,  and  some  ether  companies  who  had  assembled 
in  a  tumultuous  manner  before  the  guard-house,  no  person  whatever  was 
hurt,  and  no  violence  offered  ;  and  however  unjustifiable  the  jiroceedings, 
it  originated  not  from  any  disrespect  or  ill-will  to  their  officers,  but  from  a 
mistaken  point  of  hoTior,  in  a  particular  set  of  men  in  the  battalion,  who 
thought  themselves  disgraced  by  the  impending  punishment  of  one  of  their 
number.  The  men  have,  in  every  respect,  since  that  period  conducted 
themselves  with  the  greatest  regularity,  and  strict  subordination.  The 
whole  of  the  battalion  seemed  extremely  sensible  of  the  improper  conduct 
of  such  as  were  concerned,  whatever  regret  they  might  feel  for  the  fate  of 
the  few  individuals  who  had  so  readily  given  themselves  up  as  prisoners, 
to  be  tried  for  their  own  and  others'  misconduct.' 

"  On  the  march  to  Edinburgh,  a  ciicumstance  occurred,  the  more  worthy 
of  notice,  as  it  shows  a  strong  principle  of  honor  and  fidelity  to  his  word 
and  to  his  officer  in  a  common  Highland  soldier.  One  of  the  men  stated 
to  the  officer  commanding  the  party,  that  he  knew  what  his  fate  would  be, 
but  that  he  had  left  business  of  the  utmost  importance  to  a  friend  in 
Glasgow,  which  he  wished  to  transact  before  his  death  ;  that,  as  to  himself, 
he  was  fully  prepared  to  meet  his  fate  ;  but  with  regard  to  his  friend,  he 
could  not  die  in  ])eace  unless  the  business  was  settled,  and  that,  if  the  officer 
would  suffer  him  to  return  to  Glasgow,  a  few  hours  there  would  be  sufficient, 
and  he  would  join  him  before  he  reached  luiinburgh,  and  march  as  a 
prisoner  with  the  party.  The  soldier  added,  '  Vou  have  known  me  since 
I  was  a  child;  you  know  my  co\iiitry  and  kindred,  and  vou  mnv  believe  I 
shall  never  bring  you  to  any  blame  by  a  breach  of  the  promise  I  now  m;ike, 
to  be  with  you  in  full  time  to  be  delivered  up  in  the  Castle.'  'J'his  was  a 
startling  proposal  to  the  officer,  who  was  a  judicious,  humane  man,  and 
knew  perfectly  his  risk  and  responsibility  in  yielding  to  such  an  extra- 
ordinary application.  However,  his  confidence  was  such,  that  he  complied 
with  the  request  of  the  prisoner,  who  returned  to  Glasgow  at  night,  settled 
his  business,  and  left  the  town  before  daylight  to  redeem  his  pledge.     He 


156  NOTES. 

took  a  long  circuit  to  avoki  being  seen,  apprehended  as  a  deserter,  and 
sent  back  to  Glasgow,  as  probably  his  account  of  his  officer's  indulgence 
would  not  have  been  credited.  In  consequence  of  this  caution,  and  the 
lengthened  march  through  woods  and  over  hills  by  an  unfrequented  route, 
there  was  no  appearance  of  him  at  the  hour  appointed.  The  perplexity  of 
the  officer  when  he  reached  the  neighborhood  of  Edinburgh  may  be  easily 
imagined.  He  moved  forward  slowly  indeed,  but  no  soldier  appeared ; 
and  unable  to  delay  any  longer,  he  marched  up  to  the  Castle,  and  as  he 
was  delivering  over  the  prisoners,  but  before  any  report  was  given  in,  Mac- 
martin,  the  absent  soldier,  rushed  in  among  his  fellow-prisoners,  all  pale 
with  anxiety  and  fatigue,  and  breathless  with  apprehension  of  the  conse- 
quences in  which  his  delay  might  have  involved  his  benefactor. 

"  In  whatever  light  the  conduct  of  the  officer  (my  respectable  friend, 
Major  Colin  Campbell)  may  be  considered,  either  by  military  men  or  others 
in  this  memorable  exemplification  of  the  characteristic  principle  of  his 
countrymen,  fidelity  to  their  word,  it  cannot  but  be  wished  that  the  soldier's 
magnanimous  self-devotion  had  been  taken  as  an  atonement  for  his  own 
misconduct  and  that  of  the  whole,  who  also  had  made  a  high  sacrifice,  in 
the  voluntary  offer  of  their  lives  for  the  conduct  of  their  brother  soldiers. 
Are  these  a  people  to  be  treated  as  malefactors,  without  regard  to  their 
feelings  and  principles .''  and  might  not  a  discipline,  somewhat  different 
from  the  usual  mode,  be,  with  advantage,  applied  to  them.-"' — Vol.  ii., 
PP- 4 1 3-41 5'  3d  Edit. 

"  A  soldier  of  this  regiment  (The  Argyleshire  Highlanders),  deserted, 
and  emigrated  to  America,  where  he  settled.  Several  years  after  his  deser- 
tion, a  letter  was  received  from  him,  with  a  sum  of  money  for  the  purpose 
of  procuring  one  or  two  men  to  supply  his  place  in  the  regiment,  as  the 
only  recompense  he  could  make  for  '  breaking  his  oath  to  his  God  and  his 
allegiance  to  his  King,  which  preved  on  his  conscience  in  such  a  manner, 
that  he  had  no  rest  night  nor  day.' 

"  This  man  had  had  good  principles  early  instilled  into  his  mind,  and 
the  disgrace  which  he  had  been  originally  taught  to  believe  would  attach 
to  a  breach  of  faith  now  operated  with  full  effect.  The  soldier  who  deserted 
from  the  42d  Regiment  at  Gibraltar,  in  1797,  exhibited  the  same  remorse 
of  conscience  after  he  had  violated  his  allegiance.  In  countries  where  such 
principles  prevail,  and  regulate  the  character  of  a  people,  the  mass  of  the 
population  may,  on  occasions  of  trial,  be  reckoned  on  as  sound  and  trust- 
worthy."— Vol.  ii.,  p.  218,  3d  Edit. 

The  late  James  Menzies  of  Cuklares,  having  engaged  in  the  rebellion 
of  1715,  and  been  taken  at  Preston,  in  Lancashire,  was  carried  to  London, 
where  he  was  tried  and  condemned,  but  afterward  reprieved.  Grateful 
for  this  clemency,  he  remained  at  home  in  1745,  but,  retaining  a  predelic- 
tion  for  the  old  cause,  he  sent  a  handsome  charger  as  a  present  to  Prince 
Charles,  when  advancing  through  England.  The  servant  who  led  and 
delivered  the  horse  was  taken  prisoner,  and  carried  to  Carlisle,  where  he 
was  tried  and  condemned.  To  extort  a  discovery  of  the  person  who  sent 
the  horse,  threats  of  immediate  execution  in  case  of  refusal,  and  offers  of 
pardon  on  his  giving  information,  were  held  out  ineffectually  to  the  faithful 
messenger.  He  knew,  he  said,  what  the  consequence  of  a  disclosure  would 
be  to  his  master,  and  his  own  life  was  nothing  in  the  comparison;  when 
brought  out  for  execution  he  was  again  pressed  to  inform  on  his  master. 
He  asked  if  they  were  serious  in  supposing  him  such  a  villain.  If  he  did 
what  they  desired,  and  forgot  his  master  and  his  trust,  he  could  not  return 
to  his  native  country,  for  Glenlyon  would  be  no  home  or  country  for  him, 
as  he  would  be  despised  and  hunted  out  of  the  Glen.  Accordingly,  he  kept 
Steady  to  his  trust,  and  was  executed.     This  trusty  servant's   name  was 


NOTES. 


157 


John  MacNaughton,  from  Glenlyon,  in  Perthshire ;  he  deserves  to  be  men- 
tioned, both  on  account  of  his  incorruptible  fidelity,  and  of  his  testimony 
to  the  honorable  principles  of  the  people,  and  to  their  detestation  of  a 
breach  of  trust  to  a  kind  and  honorable  master,  however  great  might  be  the 
risk,  or  however  fatal  the  consequences  to  the  individual  himself  " — Vol. 
i-,  PP-  52,  53,  3d  Edit. 


APPENDIX  TO  INTRODUCTION. 


It  has  been  suggested  to  the  Author  that  it  might  be  well  to  reprint  here  a 
detailed  account  of  the  Public  Dinner  alluded  to  in  the  foregoing  Intro- 
duction, as  given  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time ;  and  the  reader  is  ac- 
cordingly presented  with  the  following  extract  from  the  EDINBURGH 
Weekly  Journal  for  Wednesday,  2yth  February  1827. 


THEATEICAL  FUND  DINNER. 

Before  proceeding  with  our  account  of  this  very  interesting  festival — for 
so  it  may  be  termed — it  is  our  duty  to  present  to  our  readers  the  following 
letter,  which  we  have  received  from  the  President: — 

TO  THE  editor  OF   THE  EDINBURGH  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 

Sir — I  am  extremely  sorry  I  have  not  leisure  to  correct  the  copy  you 
sent  me  of  what  I  am  stated  to  have  said  at  the  dinner  for  the  Theatrical 
Fund  I  am  no  orator;  and  upon  such  occasions  as  are  alluded  to,  I  say 
as  well  as  I  can  what  the  time  requires. 

However,  I  hope  vour  reporter  has  been  more  accurate  in  other  instan- 
ces than  in  mine.  I  have  corrected  one  passage,  in  which  I  am  made  to 
speak  with  great  impropriety  and  petulance  respecting  the  opinions  of  those 
who  did  not  approve  of  dramatic  entertainments.  I  have  restored  what  I 
said,  which  was  meant  to  be  respectful,  as  every  objection  founded  in  con- 
science is,  in  mv  opinion,  entitled  to  be  so  treated.  Other  errors  I  left  as  I 
found  them,  it  being  of  little  consequence  whether  I  spoke  sense  or  non- 
sense in  what  was  merely  intended  for  the  purpose  of  the  hour. 
1  am,  Sir, 

Vour  obedient  Servant, 

Walter  Scott. 

Edinburgh,  Monday. 

The  Theatrical  Fund  Dinner,  which  took  place  on  Friday  (February  23, 
1827,)  in  the  Assembly  Rooms,  Edinburgh,  was  conducted  with  admirable 
spirit.  The  Chairman,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  among  his  other  great  qualifi 
cations,  is  well  fitted  to  enliven  such  an  entertainment.  His  manners  are 
extremely  easy,  and  his  style  of  speaking  simple  and  natural,  yet  full  of 
vivacity  and  point;  and  he  has  the  art,  if  it  be  art,  of  relaxing  into  a  certain 
homeliness  of  m:inner,  without  losing  one  i:)article  of  his  dignity.  He  thus 
takes  off  some  of  that  solemn  formality  which  belongs  to  such  meetings, 
and,  by  his  easy  and  graceful  familiarity,  imparts  to  them  somewhat  of  th« 


KGTES.  T59 

pleasing  character  of  a  private  entertainment.  Near  Sir  W,  Scott  sat  the 
Earl  of  Fife,  Lord  Meadowbank,  Sir  John  Hope  of  Pinkie,  Bart.,  Adinirai 
Adam,  Baron  Clerk  Rattray,  Gilbert  Innes,  Esq.,  J.-'.mes  Walker,  Esq., 
FCobert  Dundas,  Esq.,  Alexander  Smith,  Esq.,  etc. 

The  cloth  being  removed,  "  Non  Nobis  Domine  "  was  sung  by  Mesirs. 
Thome,  Swift,  Collier,  and  Hartley,  after  which  the  following  toasts  were 
given  from  the  chair  : — 

"  The  King  " — all  the  honors. 

"  The  Duke  of  Clarence  and  the  Royal  Family." 

The  Chairman,  in  proposing  the  next  toast,  which  he  wished  to  be 
drunk  in  solemn  silence,  said,  it  was  to  the  memory  of  a  regretted  prince, 
whom  we  had  lately  lost.  Every  individual  would  at  once  conjecture  to 
whom  he  alluded.  He  had  no  intention  to  dwell  on  his  military  merits. 
They  had  been  told  in  the  senate;  they  had  been  repeated  in  the  cottage; 
and  whenever  a  soldier  was  the  theme,  his  name  was  never  far  distant.  But 
it  was  chiefly  in  connection  with  the  business  of  this  meeting,  which  his  late 
Royal  Highness  had  condescended  in  a  particular  manner  to  patronize,  that 
they  were  called  on  to  drink  to  his  memory.  To  that  charity  he  had  often 
sacrificed  his  time,  and  had  given  up  the  little  leisure  which  he  had  from 
important  business.  He  was  always  ready  to  attend  on  every  occasion  of 
this  kind;  and  it  was  in  that  view  that  he  proposed  to  drink  to  the  memory 
of  his  late  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  York. — Drunk  in  solemn  silence. 

The  Chairman  then  requested  that  gentlemen  would  fill  a  bumper  as 
full  as  it  would  hold,  while  he  would  say  only  a  few  words.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  hearing  speeches,  and  he  knew  the  feeling  with  which  long  ones 
were  regarded.  He  was  sure  that  it  was  perfectly  unnecessary  for  him  to 
enter  into  any  vindication  of  the  dramatic  art,  which  they  had  come  here  to 
support.  This,  however,  he  considered  to  be  the  proper  time  and  proper 
occasion  for  him  to  say  a  few  words  on  that  love  of  representation  which  was 
an  innate  feeling  in  human  nature.  It  was  the  first  amusement  that  the 
child  had — it  grew  greater  as  he  grew  up;  and,  even  in  the  decline  of  life, 
nothing  amused  so  much  as  when  a  common  tale  is  told  with  appropriate 
personification.  The  first  thing  a  child  does  is  to  ape  his  schoolmaster,  by 
flogging  a  chair.  The  assuming  a  character  ourselves,  or  the  seeing  others 
assume  an  imaginary  character,  is  an  enjoyment  natural  to  humanity.  It 
was  implanted  in  our  verv  nature,  to  take  pleasure  from  such  representa- 
tions, at  proper  times  and  on  proper  occasions.  In  all  ages  the  theatrical 
art  had  kept  pace  with  tlie  improvement  of  mankind,  and  with  the  progress 
of  letters  and  the  fine  arts.  As  man  has  advanced  from  the  ruder  stages 
of  society,  the  love  of  dramatic  representations  has  increased,  and  all  works 
of  this  nature  have  been  improved  in  character  and  in  structure.  They 
had  only  to  turn  their  eyes  to  the  history  of  ancient  Greece,  although  he 
did  not  pretend  to  be  very  deeply  versed  in  its  ancient  drama.  Its  first 
tragic  poet  commanded  a  body  of  troops  at  the  battle  of  Marathon.  Sopho- 
cles and  Euripides  were  men  of  rank  in  Athens  when  Athens  was  in  its 
highest  renown.  They  shook  Athens  with  their  discourses,  as  their  theatrical 
works  shook  the  theatre  itself.  If  they  turned  to  France  in  the  time  of 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  that  era  which  is  the  classical  history  of  that  country, 
they  would  find  that  it  was  referred  to  by  all  Frenchmen  as  the  golden  age 
of  the  drama  tl  ere.  And  also  in  lOngland,  in  the  time  of  Quocn  I'llizabeth, 
the  drama  was  at  its  highest  pitch,  when  the  nation  began  to  mingle 
deeply  and  wisely  in  the  general  j^olitics  of  luirope,  not  only  not  receiv- 
ing laws  from  others,  but  giving  laws  to  the  world,  and  vindic;iting  the 
rights  of  mankind.  (Cheers.)  There  have  been  various  times  when  the 
dramatic  art  subscciuentlv  fell  into  disrepute.  Its  professors  have  been 
stigmatized ;  and  laws  have  been  passed  against  them,  less  dishonorable 


f6o  NOTES.  f 

to  them  than  to  the  statesman  by  whom  they  were  proposed,  and  to  the 
legislators  by  whom  they  were  adopted.  What  were  the  times  in  which 
these  laws  were  passed?  Was  it  not  when  virtue  was  seldom  inculcated 
as  a  moral  duty,  that  we  were  required  to  relinquish  the  most  rational  of 
all  our  amusements,  when  the  clergy  were  enjoined  celibacy,  and  when  the 
laity  were  denied  the  right  to  read  their  Bibles?  He  thought  that  it  must 
have  been  from  a  notion  of  penance  that  they  erected  the  drama  into  an 
ideal  place  of  profaneness,  and  spoke  of  the  theatre  as  of  the  tents  of  sin. 
He  did  not  mean  to  dispute  that  there  were  many  excellent  persoi.s  who 
thought  differently  from  him,  and  he  disclaimed  the  slightest  idea  of  charg- 
ing them  with  bigotry  or  hypocrisy  on  that  account.  He  gave  them  full 
credit  for  their  tender  consciences,  in  making  these  objections,  although 
they  did  not  appear  relevant  to  him.  But  to  these  persons,  being,  as  he 
believed  them,  men  of  worth  and  piety,  he  was  sure  the  purpose  of  this 
meeting  would  furnish  some  apology  for  an  error,  if  there  be  any,  in  the 
opinions  of  those  who  attend.  They  would  approve  the  gift,  although  they 
mght  differ  in  other  points.  Such  might  not  approve  of  going  to  the 
theatre,  but  at  least  could  not  deny  that  they  might  give  away  from  their 
superfluity,  what  was  required  for  the  relief  of  the  sick,  the  support  of  the 
aged,  and  the  comfort  of  the  afflicted.  These  were  duties  enjoined  by  our 
religion  itself.     (Loud  cheers.) 

The  performers  are  in  a  particular  manner  entitled  to  the  support  or 
regard,  when  in  old  age  or  distress,  of  those  who  had  partaken  of  the 
amusement  of  these  places  which  they  render  an  ornament  to  society. 
Tlieir  art  was  of  a  peculiarly  delicate  and  precarious  nature.  They  had  to 
serve  a  long  apprenticeship.  It  ,vas  very  long  before  even  the  first-rate 
geniuses  could  acquire  the  mechanical  knowledge  of  the  stage  business. 
They  must  languish  long  in  obscurity  before  they  can  avail  themselves  of 
their  natural  talents;  and  after  that,  they  have  but  a  short  space  of  time, 
during  wliich  they  are  fortunate  if  they  can  provide  the  means  of  comfort 
in  the  decline  of  life.  That  comes  late,  and  lasts  but  a  short  time;  after 
which  they  are  left  dependent.  Their  limits  fail — their  teeth  are  loosened 
— their  voice  is  lost — and  they  are  left,  after  giving  happiness  to  others, 
in  a  most  disconsolate  state.  The  public  were  liberal  and  generous  to  those 
tleserving  their  protection.  It  was  a  sad  thing  to  be  dejiendent  on  the 
favor,  or,  he  might  say.  in  plain  terms,  on  the  caprice,  of  the  public;  and 
this  more  particularly  for  a  class  of  persons,  of  whom  extreme  prudence  is 
not  the  character.  There  might  be  instances  of  opportunities  being  neg- 
lected; but  let  each  gentleman  tax  himself  and  consider  the  opjxirtunities 
//icy  had  neglected,  and  the  sums  of  money  i//cj'  had  wasted ;  let  every 
gentleman  look  into  his  own  bosom  and  say  whether  these  were  circumstan- 
ces  which  would  soften  his  own  feelings,  were  he  to  be  plunged  into  distress. 
lie  put  it  to  every  generous  bosom — to  every  better  feeling — to  say  what 
consolation  was  it  to  old  age  to  be  told  that  vou  might  have  made  provision 
at  a  time  which  had  been  neglected — (loud  cheers)— and  to  find  it  objected, 
that  if  you  had  pleased  you  might  have  been  wealthy.  He  had  hitherto  been 
speaking  of  what,  in  the.ntrical  language,  was  called  stars,  but  they  were 
Sometimes  falling  ones.  'J'here  was  another  class  of  sufferers  naturally  and 
necessarily  connected  with  the  theatre,  without  whom  it  was  impossible  to 
go  on.  The  sailors  have  a  saying,  every  man  cannot  be  a  boatswain.  If 
there  must  be  a  great  actor  to  act  Hamlet,  there  must  also  be  people  to  act 
Laertes,  the  King,  Rosencrantz,  and  Guildenstern,  otherwise  a  drama  can- 
not go  on.  If  even  Garrick  himself  were  to  rise  from  the  dead,  he  could 
not  act  Hamlet  alone.  There  must  be  generals,  colonels,  commanding- 
officers,  subalterns.  But  what  are  the  private  soldiers  to  do  :  Many  have 
mistaken  their  own  talents,  and  have  been  driven  in  early  youth   to  try  thf 


NOTES.  161 

stage,  to  which  they  are  not  competent.  He  would  know  what  to  say  to 
the  indifferent  poet  and  to  the  bad  artist.  He  would  say  that  it  was  foolish; 
and  he  would  recommend  to  the  poet  to  become  a  scribe,  and  the  artist  to 
paint  sign-posts — (loud  laughter). — But  you  could  not  send  the  player 
adrift,  fur  if  he  cannot  play  Hamlet,  he  must  play  Guildenstern.  Where 
there  are  many  laborers,  wages  must  be  low.  and  no  man  in  such  a  situation 
can  decently  support  a  wife  and  family,  and  save  something  out  of  his  in- 
come for  old  age.  What  is  this  man  to  do  in  latter  life .''  Are  you  to  cast 
him  off  like  an  old  hinge,  or  a  piece  of  useless  machinery,  which  has  done 
its  work }  To  a  person  who  has  contributed  to  our  amusement,  this 
■would  be  unkind,  ungrateful,  and  unchristian.  His  wants  are  not  of  his 
own  making,  but  arise  from  the  natural  sources  of  sickness  and  old  age. 
It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  one  class  of  sufferers  to  whom  no  impru- 
dence can  be  ascribed,  except  on  first  entering  on  the  profession.  After 
putting  his  hand  to  the  dramatic  plough,  he  cannot  draw  back  ;  but  must 
continue  at  it,  and  toil,  till  death  release  him  from  want;  or  charity,  by  its 
milder  influence,  steps  in  to  render  that  want  more  tolerable.  He  had  little 
more  to  say,  except  that  he  sincerely  hoped  that  the  collection  to-day,  from 
the  number  of  respectable  gentlemen  present,  would  meet  the  views  enter- 
tained by  the  patrons.  He  hoped  it  would  do  so.  They  should  not  be 
disheartened.  Though  they  could  not  do  a  great  deal,  they  might  do  some- 
thing. They  had  this  consolation,  that  everything  they  parted  with  from 
their  superfluity  would  do  some  good.  They  would  sleep  the  better  them- 
selves when  they  have  been  the  means  of  giving  sleep  to  others.  It  was 
ungrateful  and  unkind,  that  those  who  had  sacrificed  their  youth  to  our 
amusement  should  not  receive  the  reward  due  to  them,  but  should  be  re- 
duced to  hard  fare  in  their  old  age.  We  cannot  think  of  poor  Falstaff 
going  to  bed  without  his  cup  of  sack,  or  Macbeth  fed  on  bones  as  marrow- 
less  as  those  of  Banquo.  (Loud  cheers  and  laughter.)  As  he  believed 
that  they  were  all  as  fond  of  the  dramatic  art  as  he  was  in  his  younger  days, 
he  would  propose  that  they  should  drink  "  The  Theatrical  Fund,"  with 
three  times  three. 

Mr.  Mackay  rose,  on  behalf  of  his  brethren,  to  return  their  thanks  for 
the  toast  just  drunk.  Many  of  the  gentlemen  present,  he  said,  were  per- 
haps not  fully  acquainted  with  the  nature  and  intention  of  the  institution, 
and  it  might  not  be  amiss  to  enter  into  some  explanation  on  the  subject. 
With  whomsoever  the  idea  of  a  Theatrical  Fund  might  have  originated 
(and  it  had  been  disputed  by  the  surviving  relatives  of  two  or  three  indi- 
viduals), certain  it  was,  that  the  first  legally  constituted  Theatrical  Fund 
owed  its  origin  to  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  to  the  profession,  the  late 
David  Garrick.  That  eminent  actor  conceived  that,  by  a  weekly  subscrip- 
tion in  the  Theatre,  a  fund  might  be  raised  among  its  members,  from  which 
a  portion  might  be  given  to  those  of  his  less  fortunate  brethren,  and  thus 
an  opportunity  would  be  offered  for  prudence  to  provide  what  fortune  had 
denied — a  comfortable  provision  for  the  winter  of  life.  With  the  welfare 
of  his  profession  constantly  at  heart,  the  zeal  with  which  he  labored  to  up- 
hold its  rcspectabilitv,  and  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  his  brethren,  not 
only  the  necessitv,  but  the  blessing  of  independence,  the  Fund  became  his 
peculiar  care.  He  drew  up  a  form  of  laws  for  its  government,  procured, 
at  his  own  expense,  the  passing  of  an  Act  of  Parliament  for  its  confirma- 
tion, bequeathed  to  it  a  handsome  legacy,  and  thus  became  the  Father  of 
the  Drury-Lane  Fund.  So  constant  was  his  attachment  to  this  infant  es- 
tablishment, that  he  chose  to  grace  the  close  of  the  brightest  theatrical  life 
on  record,  by  the  last  display  of  his  transcendent  talent,  on  the  occasion  of 
a  benefit  to  this  child  of  his  adoption,  which  ever  since  h.as  gone  by  the 
pame  of  the  Garrick  Fund.     In  imitation  of  his  noble  example,  Funds  had 


l62  NOTES. 

been  established  in  several  provincial  theatres  in  England;  but  it  remained 
for  Mrs.  Henry  Siddons  and  Mr.  William  Murray  to  become  the  founders 
of  the  first  Theatrical  Fund  in  Scotland.  (Cheers.)  This  Fund  commenced 
under  the  most  favorable  auspices;  it  was  liberally  supported  by  the  man- 
agement, and  highly  patronized  by  the  public.  Notwithstanding,  it  fell 
short  in  the  acconii.lishment  of  Us  intentions.  What  those  intentions  were, 
he  (Mr.  Mackay)  need  not  recajjitulate,  but  they  failed;  and  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  confess  that  a  want  of  energy  on  the  part  of  the  performers  was 
the  ]>robable  cause.  A  new  set  of  Rules  and  Regulations  were  lately  drawn 
up,  submitted  to  and  approved  of  at  a  general  meeting  of  the  members  of 
the  Theatre;  and  accordingly  the  Fund  was  remodeled  on  the  first  of 
January  last.  And  here  he  thought  he  did  but  echo  the  feelings  of  his 
brethren,  hw  publicly  acknowledging  the  obligations  they  were  under  to  tlie 
management  for  the  aid  given,  and  the  warm  interest  they  had  all  along 
taken  in  the  welfare  of  t'.e  Fund.  (Cheers.)  The  nature  and  object  of  the 
profession  had  been  so  well  treated  of  by  the  President,  that  he  would  say 
nothing  ;  but  of  the  numerous  offspring  of  science  and  genius  that  court 
precarious  fame,  the  Actor  boasts  the  slenderest  claim  of  all ;  the  sport  of 
fortune,  the  creatures  of  fashion,  and  the  victims  of  caprice — they  are  seen, 
heard,  and  admired,  but  to  be  forgot — they  leave  no  trace,  no  memorial  of 
their  existence — they  "  come  like  shadows,  so  depart."  (Cheers.)  Yet 
humble  though  their  pretensions  be,  there  was  no  profession,  trade,  or 
calling,  where  such  a  combination  of  requisites,  mental  and  bodily,  were 
indispensable.  In  all  others  the  principal  may  practice  after  he  has  been 
visited  by  the  afflicting  hand  of  Providence — some  by  the  loss  of  limb — 
some  of  voice — and  many,  when  the  faculty  of  the  mind  is  on  the  wane, 
may  be  assisted  by  dutiful  children,  or  devoted  servants.  Not  so  the  Actor 
— he  must  retain  all  he  ever  did  possess,  or  sink  dejected  to  a  mournful 
home.  (Applause.)  Yet  while  they  are  toiling  for  ephemeral  theatric  fame 
how  very  few  ever  possess  the  means  of  hoarding  in  their  youth  that  which 
would  give  bread  in  old  age  !  But  now  a  brighter  prospect  dawned  upon 
them,  and  to  the  success  of  this  their  infant  establishment  they  looked 
with  hope,  as  to  a  comfortable  and  peaceful  home  in  their  declining  years. 
He  concluded  by  tendering  to  the  meeting  in  the  name  of  his  brethren  and 
sisters,  their  unfeigned  thanks  for  their  liberal  support,  and  begged  to  pro- 
pose "  the  health  of  the  Patrons  of  the  Edinburgh  Theatrical  Fund." 
(Cheers.) 

Lord  MeadowbanK  said,  that  by  desire  of  his  Hon.  Friend  in  the  chair 
and  of  his  Noble  Friend  at  bis  right  hand,  he  begged  leave  to  return  thanks 
for  the  honor  which  had  been  conferred  on  the  Patrons  of  this  excellent 
Institution.  He  could  answer  for  himself — he  could  answer  for  them  all 
— that  thev  were  deeply  impressed  with  the  meritorious  objects  which  it  ha.s 
in  view,  and  of  their  anxious  wish  to  promote  its  interests.  For  himself, 
he  might  be  permitted  to  say,  that  he  was  rather  surprised  at  finding  his 
own  name,  as  one  of  the  Patrons,  associated  with  so  many  individuals  of 
high  rank  and  powerful  influence.  But  it  was  an  excuse  for  those  who  had 
placed  him  in  a  situation  so  honorable  and  so  distinguished,  that  when 
this  charitv  was  instituted  he  happened  to  hold  a  high  and  re<;ponsibIe 
station  under  the  Crown,  when  he  might  have  been  of  use  in  ass'sting  and 
promoting  its  olijccts.  His  Lordship  much  feared  that  he  cmld  have  little 
expectation,  situated  as  he  now  was,  of  doing  cither;  but  he  could  confi- 
dently assert,  that  few  things  would  give  him  greater  gratification  than 
being  able  to  contribute  to  its  prosperitv  and  support;  and,  indeed,  when 
one  recollects  the  pleasure  which  at  all  periods  of  life  he  has  received  from 
the  exhibitions  of  the  stage,  and  the  exertions  of  the  meritorious  individ- 
uals for  whose  aid  this  Fund  has  been  established,  he  must  be  divested  both 


NOTES.  i6j 

of  gratitude  and  feeling  who  would  not  give  his  best  endeavors  to  promote 
its  welfare.  And  now,  that  he  might  in  some  measure  repay  the  gratifi- 
cation, which  has  been  afforded  himself,  he  would  beg  leave  to  propose  a 
toast,  the  health  of  one  of  the  Patrons — a  great  and  distinguished  individ- 
ual, whose  name  must  always  stand  by  itself,  and  which,  in  an  assembly 
such  as  this,  or  in  any  other  assembly  of  Scotsmen,  can  never  be  received, 
not,  he  would  say,  with  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure  or  of  delight,  but  with 
those  of  rapture  or  enthusiasm.  In  doing  so  he  teit  that  he  stood  in  a 
somewhat  new  situation.  Whoever  had  been  called  upon  to  propose  the 
health  of  his  Hon.  Friend  to  whom  he  alluded,  some  lime  ago,  would  have 
found  himself  enabled,  from  the  mystery  in  which  certain  matters  were 
involved,  to  gratify  himself  and  his  auditors  by  allusions  which  found  a 
responding  chord  in  their  own  feelings,  and  to  deal  in  the  language,  the 
sincere  language  of  panegyric,  without  intruding  on  the  modesty  of  the 
great  individual  to  whom  he  referred.  But  it  was  no  longer  possible,  con- 
sistently with  the  respect  to  one's  auditors,  to  use  upon  this  subject  terms 
either  of  mystification,  or  of  obscure  or  indirect  allusion.  The  clouds  have 
been  dispelled — the  darkness  visible  has  been  cleared  away — and  the  Great 
Unknown — the  minstrel  of  our  native  land — the  mighty  magician  who  has 
rolled  back  the  current  of  time,  and  conjured  up  before  our  living  senses 
the  men  and  manners  of  days  which  have  long  passed  away,  stands  re- 
vealed to  the  hearts  and  the  eyes  of  his  affectionate  and  admiring  country- 
men. If  he  himself  were  capable  of  imagining  all  that  belonged  to  this 
mighty  subject — were  he  even  able  to  give  utterance  to  all  that,  as  a  friend, 
as  a  man,  and  as  a  Scotsman,  he  must  feel  regarding  it;  yet,  knowing,  as 
he  well  did,  that  this  illustrious  individual  was  not  more  distinguished  for 
his  towering  talents  than  for  those  feelings  which  rendered  such  allusions 
ungrateful  to  himself,  however  sparingly  introduced,  he  would,  on  that 
account,  still  refrain  from  doing  that  which  would  otherwise  be  no  less 
pleasing  to  him  than  to  his  audience.  But  this,  his  Lordship  hoped  he 
would  be  allowed  to  say  (his  auditors  would  not  pardon  him  were  he  to 
say  less)  we  owe  him,  as  a  people,  a  large  and  heavy  debt  of  gratitude.  He 
it  is  who  has  opened  to  foreigners  the  grand  and  characteristic  beauties  of 
our  country.  It  is  to  him  that  we  owe  that  our  gallant  ancestors,  and  the 
struggles  of  our  illustrious  patriots — who  fought  and  bled  in  order  to  obtain 
and  secure  that  independence  and  that  liberty  we  now  enjoy — have  obtained 
a  fame  no  longer  confined  to  the  boundaries  of  a  remote  and  comparatively 
obscure  nation,  and  who  has  called  down  upon  their  struggles  for  glory  and 
freedom  the  admiration  of  foreign  countries.  He  it  is  w^ho  has  conferred  a 
new  reputation  on  our  national  character,  and  bestowed  on  Scotland  an  im- 
perishable name,  were  it  only  by  her  having  given  birth  to  himself.  (Loud 
and  rapturous  applause.) 

Sir  Waltkr  Scott  certainly  did  not  think  that,  in  coming  here  to-day, 
he  would  have  the  task  of  acknowledging,  before  three  hundred  gentlemen, 
a  secret  which,  considering  that  it  was  communicated  to  more  than  twenty 
people,  had  been  remarkably  well  ke]")t.  He  was  now  before  the  bar  of  his 
country,  and  might  be  understood  to  be  on  trial  liefore  Lord  Meadowbank 
as  an  offender;  yet  he  was  sure  that  every  imjjartial  jury  would  bring  in  a 
verdict  of  Not  Proven.  He  did  not  now  think  it  necessary  to  enter  into 
the  reasons  of  his  long  silence.  Perhaps  caprice  might  have  a  considerable 
share  in  it.  He  had  now  to  sav,  however,  that  the  merits  of  these  works 
if  they  had  any,  and  their  faults,  were  entirely  imputable  to  himself.  (Long 
and  loud  cheering.)  He  was  afraid  to  think  on  what  he  had  done — "  look 
on't  again  T  dare  not."  He  had  thus  far  unbosomed  himself,  and  he  knew 
that  it  would  be  reported  to  the  public.  He  meant,  then,  seriously  to  state, 
that  when  he  said  he  was  the  author,  he  was  the  total  and  undivided  author. 


1 64  NOTES. 

With  the  exc-eption  of  quotations,  there  was  not  a  single  word  that  was  not 
derived  from  himself,  or  suggested  in  the  course  of  his  reading.  The  wand 
was  now  bruken,  and  the  book  buried.  You  will  allow  me  further  to  sav, 
with  Prospero,  it  is  your  breath  that  has  tilled  my  sails,  and  to  crave  one 
single  toast  in  the  capacity  of  the  author  of  these  novels;  and  he  would 
dedicate  a  bumper  to  the  health  of  one  who  has  represented  some  of  those 
characters,  of  which  he  had  endeavored  to  give  the  skeleton,  with  a  degree 
of  liveliness  which  rendered  him  grateful.  He  would  propose  the  health 
of  his  friend  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie  (loud  applause) — and  he  was  sure  that, 
when  the  Author  of  Waverley  and  Rob  Roy  drinks  to  Nicol  Jarvie,  it  would 
be  received  with  that  degree  of  applause  to  which  that  gentleman  hasalwavs 
been  accustomed,  and  that  they  would  take  care  that  on  the  present  occa- 
sion it  should  be  prodigious!     (Long  and  vehement  applause.) 

Mr.  Mackay,  who  here  spoke  with  great  humor  in  the  character  of 
Bailie  Jarvie. — My  conscience  !  my  worthy  father  the  deacon  could  not 
have  believed  that  his  son  could  hae  had  sic  a  compliment  paid  to  him  by 
the  Great  Unknown ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — The  Small  Known  now,  Mr.  Bailie. 

Mr.  Mackay. — He  had  been  long  identified  with  the  Bailie,  and  he  was 
Tain  of  the  cognomen  which  he  had  now  worn  for  eight  years  ;  and  he 
questioned  if  any  of  his  brethren  in  the  Council  had  given  such  universal 
satisfaction.  (Loud  laughter  and  applause.)  Before  he  sat  down,  he 
begged  to  propose  "  The  Lord  Provost,  and  the  City  of  Edinburgh." 

Sir  Walter  Scott  apologized  for  the  absence  of  the  Lord  Provost,  who 
had  gone  to  London  on  public  business. 

Tune — "  Within  a  mile  of  Edinburgh  town." 

Sir  Walter  Scott  gave  "  The  Duke  of  Wellington  and  the  Army. 

Glee — "  How  merrily  we  live." 

"  Lord  Melville  and  the  Navy,  that  fought  till  they  left  nobody  to  fight 
with,  like  an  arch  sportsman  who  clears  all  and  goes  after  the  game." 

Mr.  Pat.  Robertson. — They  had  heard  this  evening  a  toast,  which  had 
been  received  with  intense  delight,  which  will  be  published  in  every  news- 
paper, and  will  be  hailed  with  joy  by  all  Europe.  He  had  one  toast 
assigned  him,  which  he  had  great  pleasure  in  giving.  He  was  sure  that 
the  stage  had  in  all  ages  a  great  effect  on  the  morals  and  manners  of  the 
people.  It  was  very  desirable  that  the  stage  should  be  well  regulated;  and 
there  was  no  criterion  by  which  its  regulation  could  be  better  determined 
than  by  the  moral  character  and  personal  respectability  of  the  performers. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  stern  moralists  who  objected  to  the  Theatre. 
The  most  fastidious  mtjralist  could  not  possibly  apprehend  anv  injurv  from 
the  stage  of  Edinburgh,  as  it  was  presently  managed,  and  so  long  as  it  was 
adorned  by  that  illustrious  individual  Mrs.  Henry  Siddons,  whose  public 
exhibitions  were  not  more  remarkable  for  feminine  grace  and  delicacy,  than 
was  her  private  character  for  every  virtue  which  could  be  admired  in 
domestic  life.  He  would  conclude  with  reciting  a  few  words  from  -Shake- 
speare, in  a  spirit  not  of  contradiction,  to  those  stern  moralists  who  disliked 
the  Theatre,  but  of  meekness — '•  Good,  my  lord,  will  you  see  the  i)layers 
well  bestowed  }  do  you  hear,  let  them  be  well  used,  for  they  are  the  abstract 
and  brief  chronicles  of  the  time."  He  then  gave  "Mrs.  Henry  Siddons, 
and  success  to  the  Theatre  Royal  of  lidinburgh." 

Mr.  Mi'RRAY. — Gentlemen,  I  rise  to  return  thanks  for  the  honor  you 
have  done  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  doing  which  I  am  somewhat  difiiculted,  from 
the  extreme  delicacy  which  attends  a  brother's  expatiating  upon  a  sister's 
claims  of  honors  publicly  paid — (hear,  hear) — yet,  gentlemen,  your  kind- 
ness emboldens  me  to  say,  that  were  I  to  give  utterence  to  all  a  brother's 
<telings,  I  should  not  exaggerate  these  clalir.s.     (Loud  applause.)     I  there- 


NOTES.  165 

fore,  Gentlemen,  thank  you  most  cordially  for  the  honor  you  have  done 
her,  and  shall  now  request  permission  to  make  an  observation  on  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Edinburgh  Theatrical  Fund,  Mr.  Mackay  has  done  Mrs.  Henry 
Siddons  and  myself  the  honor  to  ascribe  the  establishment  to  us  ;  but  no, 
Gentlemen,  it  owes  its  origin  to  a  higher  source — the  publication  of  the 
novel  of  Rob  Roy — the  unprecedented  success  of  the  opera  adapted  from 
that  popular  production.  (Hear,  hear.)  It  was  that  success  which  relieved 
the  Edinburgh  Theatre  from  its  difficulties,  and  enabled  Mrs.  Siddons  to 
carry  into  effect  the  establishment  of  a  fund  she  had  long  desired,  but  was 
prevented  from  effecting,  from  the  unsettled  state  of  her  theatrical  concerns. 
I  therefore  hope  that  in  future  years,  when  the  aged  and  infirm  actor  de- 
rives relief  from  this  Fund,  he  will,  in  the  language  of  the  gallant  High- 
lander "  Cast  his  eye  to  good  old  Scotland,  and  not  forget  Rob  Roy." 
(Loud  applause.) 

Sir  Walter  Scott  here  stated,  that  Mrs.  Siddons  wanted  the  means 
but  not  the  will  of  beginning  the  Theatrical  Fund.  He  here  alluded  to  the 
great  merits  of  Mr.  Murray's  management,  and  to  his  merits  as  an  actor, 
which  was  of  the  first  order,  and  of  which  every  person  who  attends  the 
Theatre  must  be  sensible  ;  and  after  alluding  to  the  embarrassment  with 
which  the  Theatre  had  been  at  one  period  threatened,  he  concluded  by 
giving  the  health  of  Mr.  Murray,  which  was  drunk  with  three  times 
three. 

Mr.  Murray. — Gentlemen,  I  wish  I  could  believe,  that,  in  any  degree 
I  merited  the  compliments  with  which  it  has  pleased  Sir  Walter  Scott  to 
preface  the  proposal  of  my  health,  or  the  very  flattering  manner  in  which 
you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  receive  it.  The  approbation  of  such  an 
assembly  is  most  gratifying  to  me,  and  might  encourage  feelings  of  vanity, 
were  not  such  feelings  crushed  by  my  conviction,  that  no  man  holding  the 
situation  I  have  so  long  held  in  Edinburgh,  could  have  failed,  placed  in  the 
peculiar  circumstances  in  which  I  have  been  placed.  Gentlemen,  I  shall 
not  insult  your  good  taste  by  eulogiums  upon  your  judgment  or  kindly 
feeling  ;  though  to  the  first  I  owe  any  improvement  I  may  have  made  as  an 
actor,  and  certainly  my  success  as  a  Manager  to  the  second.  (Applause.) 
When,  upon  the  death  of  my  dear  brother,  tlie  late  Mr.  Siddons,  it  was 
proposed  that  I  should  undertake  the  management  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre,  I  confess  I  drew  back,  doubting  my  capability  to  free  it  from  the 
load  of  debt  and  difficulty  with  which  it  was  surrounded.  In  this  state  of 
anxiety,  I  solicited  the  advice  of  one  who  had  ever  honored  me  with  his 
kindest  regard,  and  whose  name  no  member  of  my  profession  can  pronounce 
without  feelings  of  the  deepest  respect  and  gratitude — I  allude  to  the  late 
Mr.  John  Kemble.  (Great  applause.)  To  him  I  applied ;  and  with  the 
repetition  of  his  advice  I  shall  cease  to  trespass  upon  your  time — (hear, 
hear), — "My  dear  William,  fear  not;  integrity  and  assiduity  must  prove 
an  overmatch  for  all  difficulty  ;  and  though  I  approve  not  your  indulging 
a  vain  confidence  in  your  own  aliility,  and  viewing  with  respectful  appre- 
hension the  judgment  of  the  audience  you  have  to  act  before,  yet  be  assured 
the  judgment  will  ever  be  tempered  by  the  feeling  that  you  are  acting  for 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless."  (Loud  applause.)  Gentlemen,  those  words 
have  never  passed  from  my  mind  ;  and  I  feel  convinced  that  you  have 
pardoned  my  many  errors,  from  the  feeling  that  I  was  striving  for  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  (Long  and  enthusiastic  applause  followed  Mr. 
Murray's  address.) 

Sir  Walter  Scott  gave  the  health  of  the  Stewards. 
Mr.  Vanderhokk. — Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  the  honor  conferred 
upon  the  Stewards,  in  the  very  flattering  compliment  you  have  just  paid  us, 
rails  forth  our  warmest  acknowledgments.     In  tendering  you  our  thanks 


i66  NOTES. 

for  the  approbation  j'ou  have  been  pleased  to  express  of  our  humble  exer- 
tions, I  would  beg  leave  to  advert  to  the  cause  in  which  we  have  been 
engaged.  Yet,  surrounded  as  I  am  by  the  genius — the  eloquence  of  thia 
enlightened  city,  I  cannot  but  feel  the  presumption  which  ventures  to 
address  you  on  so  interesting  a  subject.  Accustomed  to  speak  ii:  the 
language  of  others,  I  feel  quite  at  a  loss  for  terms  wherein  to  clothe  the 
sentiments  excited  by  the  present  occasion.  (Applause.)  The  nature  of 
the  Institution  which  has  sought  your  fostering  patronage,  and  the  objects 
which  it  contemplates,  have  been  fully  explained  to  you,  liut,  gentlemen, 
the  relief  which  it  proposes  is  not  a  gratuitous  relief — but  to  be  purchase-.l 
by  the  individual  contribution  of  its  members  toward  the  general  good. 
This  Fund  lends  no  encouragement  to  idleness  or  improvidence  ;  but  it  of- 
fers an  opportunity  to  prudence,  in  vigor  and  youth,  to  make  provision 
against  the  evening  of  life  and  its  attendant  infirmity.  A  period  is  fixed 
at  which  we  admit  the  plea  of  age  as  an  exemption  from  professional  labor. 
It  is  painful  to  behold  the  veteran  on  the  stage  (compelled  by  nccessitv) 
contending  against  physical  decay,  mocking  the  joyousness  of  mirth  with 
the  feebleness  of  age,  when  the  energies  decline,  when  the  memory  fails, 
and  "  the  big  manly  voice,  turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes  and 
whistles  in  the  sound."  We  would  remove  him  from  the  mimic  scene, 
where  fiction  constitutes  the  charm;  we  would  not  view  old  age  caricatur- 
ing itself.  (Applause.)  But  as  our  means  may  be  found,  in  time  of  need, 
inadequate  to  the  fulfilment  of  our  wishes — fearful  of  raising  expectations 
which  we  may  be  unable  to  gratify — desirous  not  •'  to  keep  the  word  of 
promise  to  the  ear,  and  break  it  to  the  hope  " — we  have  presumed  to  court 
the  assistance  of  the  friends  of  the  drama  to  strengthen  our  infant  institu- 
tion. Our  appeal  has  been  successful  beyond  our  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions. The  distinguished  patronage  conferred  on  us  by  your  presence  on 
this  occasion,  and  the  substantial  support  which  your  benevolence  has  so 
liberally  afforded  to  our  institution,  must  impress  every  member  of  the 
Fund  with  the  most  grateful  sentiments — sentiments  which  no  language 
can  express,  no  time  obliterate.  (Applause.)  I  will  not  trespass  longer  on 
your  attention.  I  would  the  task  of  acknowledging  our  obligation  had  fallen 
into  abler  hands.  (Hear,  hear.)  In  the  name  of  the  Stewards,  I  most  re- 
spectfully and  cordially  thank  you  for  the  honor  you  have  done  us,  v/hich 
greatly  overpays  our  poor  endeavors.     (Applause.) 

[This  speech,  though  rather  inadequately  reported,  was  one  of  the  best 
delivered  on  this  occasion.  That  it  was  creditable  to  Mr.  Vandenhoff's 
taste  and  feelings  the  preceding  sketch  will  show;  but  how  much  it  was  so, 
it  does  ;/('/  show.] 

Mr.  J.  Cay  gave  "  ProfessorWilson  and  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
of  which  he  was  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments.'' 

Lord  MEAnowH.^NK,  after  a  suitable  eulogium,  gave  "  the  Earl  of  Fife,'" 
which  was  drunk  with  three  times  three. 

TilK  Eari.  of  Fii-e  expressed  his  high  gratification  at  the  honor  con 
i'erred  on  him.  He  intimated  his  approbation  of  the  institution,  and  his 
readiness  to  promote  its  success  by  every  means  in  his  power.  He  con- 
cluded with  giving  "  the  health  of  the  Company  of  Edinburgh." 

Mr.  jONES,  on  rising  to  return  thanks,  being  received  with  considerable 
applause,  said,  he  was  trulv  grateful  for  the  kind  encouragement  he  had 
experienced,  but  the  noveUv  of  the  situation  in  which  he  now  was,  renewed 
all  the  feelings  he  ex])erience(l  when  he  first  saw  himself  announced  in  the 
bills  as  a  young  gentleman,  being  his  first  appearance  on  any  stage.  (Laugh- 
ter and  applau.se. )  Although  in  the  presence  of  those  whose  indulgence 
had,  in  another  sphere,  so  often  shielded  him  from  the  penalties  of  inability, 
ie  was  unable  to  execute  the  task  which   had  so  unexpectedly  devolved 


NOTES.  167 

upon  him  in  behnlf  of  his  brethren  and  himself.  He  therefore  begged  the 
company  to  imagine  all  that  grateful  hearts  could  prompt  the  most  eloquent 
to  utter,  and  that  would  be  a  copy  of  their  feelings.  (Applause.)  lit 
begged  to  trespass  another  moment  on  their  attention,  for  the  purpose  of 
expressing  the  thanks  of  the  members  of  the  Fund  to  the  Gentlemen  of  the 
Edinburgh  Professional  Society  of  Musicians,  who,  finding  that  this  meelir.g 
was  appointed  to  take  place  on  the  same  evening  with  their  concert,  had  in 
the  handsomest  manner  agreed  to  postpone  it.  Although  it  was  his  duty 
thus  to  preface  the  toast  he  had  to  propose,  he  was  certain  the  meelir.g 
required  no  further  inducement  than  the  recollection  of  the  pleasure  the 
exertions  of  those  gentlemen  had  often  afforded  them  within  those  walls,  to 
join  heartily  in  drinking  "  Health  and  prosperity  to  the  Edinburgh  Profes- 
sional Society  of  Musicians."     (Applause.) 

Mr.  Pat.  Robertson  proposed  "  the  health  of  Mr.  Jeffrey,"  whose 
absence  was  owing  to  indisposition.  The  public  was  well  aware  that  he 
was  the  most  distinguished  advocate  at  the  bar  ;  he  was  like  distinguished 
for  the  kindness,  frankness,  and  cordial  manner  in  which  he  communicated 
with  the  junior  members  of  the  profession  to  the  esteem  of  whom  his  splen- 
did talents  would  always  entitle  him. 

Mr.  J.  Maconochie  gave  "  the  health  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  senior — the 
most  distinguished  ornament  of  the  stage." 

Sir  W.  Scott  said,  that  if  anything  could  reconcile  him  to  old  age,  it 
was  the  reflection  that  he  had  seen  the  rising  as  well  as  the  tosetting  sun 
Mrs.  Siddons.  He  remembered  well  their  breakfasting  near  to  the  Theatre 
— waiting  the  whole  day — the  crushing  at  the  doors  at  six  o'clock — and 
their  going  in  and  counting  their  fingers  till  seven  o'clock.  But  the  very 
first  step — the  very  first  word  which  she  uttered,  was  sufficient  to  overpay 
him  for  all  his  labors.  The  house  was  literally  electrified  ;  and  it  was  only 
from  witnessing  the  effects  of  her  genius,  that  he  could  guess  to  what  a 
pitch  theatrical  excellence  could  be  carried.  Those  young  gentlemen  who 
have  only  seen  the  setting  sun  of  this  distinguished  performer,  beautiful  and 
serene  as  that  was,  must  give  us  old  fellows,  who  have  seen  its  rise  and  its 
meridian,  leave  to  hold  our  heads  a  little  higher. 

Mr.  Duxdas  gave  "The  memory  of  Home,  the  author  of  Douglas." 

Mr.  Mackay  here  announced  that  the  subscription  for  the  night 
amounted  to  ;i^28o;  and  he  expressed  gratitude  for  the  substantial  proof  of 
their  kindness.  [We  are  happy  to  state  that  subscriptions  have  since 
flowed  in  very  liberally.] 

Mr.  Mackay  here  entertained  the  company  with  a  pathetic  song. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  apologized  for  having  so  long  forgotten  their  native 
land.  He  would  now  give  "  Scotland,  the  Land  of  Cakes."  He  would 
give  every  river,  every  loch,  every  hill,  from  Tweed  to  Johnnie  Groat's  House 
' — every  lass  in  her  cottage  and  countess  in  her  castle  ;  and  may  her  sons 
stand  by  her,  as  their  fathers  did  before  them,  and  he  who  would  not  drink 
a  bumper  to  his  toast,  may  he  never  drink  whisky  more  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott  here  gave  Lord  Meadowbank,  who  returned  thanks. 

Mr.  H.  Glassford  Bell  said  tiiat  he  should  not  have  ventured  to  in- 
trude himself  upon  the  attention  of  the  assembly,  did  not  feel  confident  that 
the  toast  he  begged  to  have  the  honor  to  propose  would  make  amends  for 
the  very  imperfect  manner  in  which  he  might  express  his  sentiments  regard- 
ing it.  It  had  been  said,  that  notwithstanding  the  mental  supremacy  of  the 
present  age,  notwithstanding  that  the  page  of  our  history  was  studded  with 
names  destined  also  for  the  page  of  immortality,  that  the  genius  of  Shake- 
speare was  extinct,  and  the  fountain  of  his  inspiration  dried  up.  It  might 
be  that  these  observations  were  unfortunately  correct,  or  it  might  be  that 
we  were  bewildered  with  a  name,   not  disappointed  of  the   reality — for 


i6g  NOTES. 

though  Shakespeare  had  brought  a  Hamlet,  an  Othello,  and  a  ^Tacbeth,  an 
Ariel,  a  fuliet,  and  a  Rosalhul,  iijjon  the  stage,  were  there  not  auth(jrs  living 
who  had  brought  as  varied,  as  exquisitely  painted,  and  as  undying  a  range  ol 
characters  into  our  hearts  ?  The  shape  of  the  mere  mould  into  which  genius 
poured  its  golden  treasures  was  surely  a  matter  of  little  moment — let  i^  be 
called  a  Tragedy,  a  Comedy,  or  a  Waverley  Novel.  But  even  among  the 
dramatic  autliors  of  the  present  day,  he  was  unwilling  to  allow  that  there 
was  a  great  and  palpable  decline  from  the  glory  of  preceding  ages,  and  his 
toast  alone  would  bear  him  out  in  denying  the  truth  of  the  proposition. 
After  eulogizing  the  names  of  liaillic,  P.yron,  Coleridge,  Maturin,  and  others 
he  begged  to  have  the  honor  of  proposing  "  the  health  of  James  Sheridan 
Knowles." 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — Gentlemen,  I  crave  a  bumper  all  over.  The 
last  toast  reminds  me  of  a  neglect  of  dut}'.  Unaccustomed  to  a  public  duty 
of  this  kind,  errors  in  conducting  the  ceremonial  of  it  may  be  excused,  and 
omissions  pardoned.  Perhaps  I  have  made  one  or  two  omissions  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  for  which  I  trust  you  will  grant  me  your  pardon  and 
indulgence.  One  thing  in  particular  I  have  omitted,  and  I  would  now  wish 
to  make  amends  for  it.  by  a  libation  of  reverence  and  respect  to  the  memory 
of  Shakespeare.  He  was  a  man  of  universal  genius,  and  from  a  ]:)eriod 
soon  after  his  own  era  to  the  present  day,  he  has  been  universally  idolized. 
When  I  come  to  his  honored  name,  I  am  like  the  sick  man  who  hung  up 
his  crutches  at  the  shrine,  and  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  did  not  walk 
better  than  before.  It  is  indeed  difficult,  gentlemen,  to  compare  him  to 
any  other  individual.  The  only  one  to  whom  I  can  at  all  compare  him,  is  the 
wonderful  Arabian  dervise,  who  dived  into  the  body  of  each,  and  in  this  way 
became  familiar  with  the  thoughts  and  secrets  of  their  hearts.  He  was  a 
man  of  obscure  origin,  and,  as  a  player,  limited  in  his  acquirements,  but  he 
was  born  evidently  with  a  universal  genius.  His  eyes  glanced  at  all  the 
varied  aspects  of  life,  and  his  fancy  portrayed  with  equal  talents  the  king  on 
the  throne,  and  the  clown  who  crackles  his  chestnuts  at  a  Christmas  fire. 
Whatever  note  he  takes,  he  strikes  it  just  and  true,  and  awakens  a  corre- 
sponding chord  in  our  own  bosoms.  Gentlemen,  1  propose  "  the  memory 
of  William  .Shakespeare." 

Glee — "  Lightly  tread,  'tis  hallowed  ground." 

After  the  glee,  SirWalter  rose,  and  begged  to  propose  as  a  toast  the 
health  of  a  lady,  whose  living  merit  is  not  a  little  honorable  to  Scotland. 
The  toast  (he  said)  is  also  flattering  to  the  national  vanity  of  a  Scotchman, 
as  the  lady  whom  I  intend  to  propose  is  a  native  of  this  country.  From 
the  public  her  works  have  met  with  the  most  favorable  reception.  One 
piece  of  hers,  in  particular,  was  often  acted  here  of  late  years,  and  gave 
pleasure  of  no  mean  kind  to  many  brilliant  and  fashionable  audiences.  In 
her  private  character  she  (he  begged  leave  to  say)  is  as  remarkable,  as  in  a 
public  sense  she  is  for  her  genius.  In  short,  he  would  in  one  word  name — ■ 
"  Joanna  Baillie." 

This  health  being  drunk,  Mr.  Thorne  was  called  on  for  a  song,  and  sung, 
with  great  taste  and  feeling,  "  The  Anchor's  weighed." 

W.  Menzies,  Esq.,  Advocate,  rose  to  propose  the  health  of  a  gentleman 
for  many  years  connectctl  at  intervals  with  the  dramatic  art  in  Scotland. 
Whether  we  look  at  the  range  of  characters  he  performs,  or  at  the  capacity 
which  he  evinces  in  executing  those  which  he  undertakes,  he  is  equally  to 
be  admired.  In  all  his  parts  he  is  unrivaled.  The  individual  to  whom  he 
alluded  is  (said  he)  well  known  to  the  gentlemen  present,  in  the  characters 
of  Malvolio,  Lord  Ogleby,  and  the  Green  Man;  and,  in  addition  to  his 
other  qualities,  he  merits,  for  his  perfection  in  these  characters,  the  grate- 
ful sense  of  this  meeting.     He  would  wish,  in  the  first  place,  to  drink  hifl 


NOTES.  169 

health  as  an  actor  ;  but  he  was  not  less  estimable  in  domestic  life,  and  as  a 
private  gentleman;  and  when  he  announced  him  as  one  whom  the  Chair- 
man had  honored  with  his  friendship^  he  was  sure  that  all  present  would  cor- 
dially join  him  in  drinking  "  The  health  of  Mr.  Terry." 

Mr.  William  Allan,  banker,  said,  that  he  did  not  rise  with  the  ir.teu 
tion  of  making  a  speech.  He  merely  wished  to  contribute  in  a  few  words 
to  the  mirth  of  the  evening — an  evening  which  certainly  had  not  passed  ofi 
without  some  blunders.  It  had  been  understood — at  least  he  had  learnt  or 
supposed,  from  the  expressions  of  Mr.  Pritchard — that  it  would  be  sufficient 
to  put  a  paper,  with  the  name  of  the  contributor,  into  the  box,  and  that  the 
gentleman  thus  contributing  would  be  called  on  for  the  money  next  morn- 
ing. He,  for  his  part,  had  committed  a  blunder,  but  it  may  serve  as  a 
caution  to  those  who  may  be  present  at  the  dinner  of  next  year.  He  had 
merely  put  in  his  name,  written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  without  the  money.  But 
he  would  recommend  that,  as  some  of  the  gentlemen  might  be  in  the  same 
situation,  the  box  should  again  be  sent  round,  and  he  was  confident  that 
they,  as  well  as  he,  would  redeem  their  error. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  said,  that  the  meeting  was  somewhat  in  the  situa- 
tion of  Mrs.  Anne  Page,  who  had  ;r^300  and  possibilities.  We  have  already 
got,  said  he,  ^280,  but  I  should  like",  I  confess,  to  have  the;^30o.  He  would 
gratify  himself  by  projjosing  the  health  of  an  honorable  person,  the  Lord 
Chief-Baron,  whom  England  has  sent  to  us,  and  connecting  with  it  that  of 
his  "  yoke-fellow  on  the  bench,"  as  Shakespeare  says,  Mr.  Baron  Clerk — 
The  Court  of  Exchequer. 

Mr.  Baron  Clerk  regretted  the  absence  of  his  learned  brother.  None, 
he  was  sure,  could  be  more  generous  in  his  nature,  or  more  ready  to  help  a 
Scottish  purpose. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — There  is  one  who  ought  to  be  remembered  on 
this  occasion.  He  is,  indeed,  well  entitled  to  our  grateful  recollection — one, 
in  short,  to  whom  the  drama  in  this  city  owes  much.  He  succeeded,  not 
without  trouble,  and  perhaps  at  some  considerable  sacrifice,  in  establishing 
a  theatre.  The  younger  part  of  the  company  may  r.ot  recollect  the  theatre 
to  which  I  allude  ;  but  there  are  some  with  me  who  may  remember  by  name 
a  place  called  Carrubber's  Close.  There  Allan  Ramsay  established  his 
little  theatre.  His  own  pastoral  was  not  fit  for  the  stage,  but  it  has  its  ad- 
mirers in  those  who  love  the  Doric  language  in  which  it  is  written  ;  and  it 
is  not  without  merit  of  a  verv  peculiar  kind.  But,  laying  aside  all  considera- 
tions of  his  literary  merit,  Allan  was  a  good  jovial  honest  fellow,  who  could 
crack  abottle  with  the  best. — "  The  memory  of  Allan  Ramsay." 

Mr  Murray,  on  being  requested,  sung,  "  'Twas  merry  in  the  hall,"  and 
at  the  conclusion  was  greeted  with  repeated  rounds  of  applause. 

Mr.  Jones. — One  omission  I  conceive  has  been  made.  The  cause  of 
the  Fund  has  been  ably  advocated,  but  it  is  still  susceptible,  in  my  opinion 
of  an  additional  charm — 

Without  the  smile,  from  partial  beauty  won. 
Oh,  what  were  man  ? — a  world  without  a  sun  I 

And  there  would  not  be  a  darker  spot  in  poetry  than  would  be  the  corner 
in  Shakespeare  Square,  if,  like  its  fellow,  the  Register  Office,  the  Theatre 
were  deserted  by  the  ladies.  They  arc,  in  fad,  our  most  attractive  stars. — 
"  The  Patronesses  of  the  Theatre — the  Ladies  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh." 
The  toast  I  ask  leave  to  drink  with  all  the  honors  which  conviviality  can 
confer. 

Mu.  P.'VTKiCK  Rohertson  would  be  the  last  man  willingly  to  introduce 
any  topic  calculated  to  interrupt   the  harmony  of  the  evening;  yet  he  feU 


l^o  .VOTES.  < 

himself  treading  upon  ticklish  ground  when  he  approached  the  region  of  the 
Nor'  Loch.  He  assured  the  company,  however,  that  he  was  not  about  to 
enter  on  the  subject  of  the  Improvement  Bill.  They  all  knew,  that  if  the 
public  were  unanimous — if  the  consent  of  all  parlies  were  obtained — if  the 
rights  and  interests  of  evervbody  were  therein  attended  to,  saved,  reserved, 
respected  and  excej^ed — if  everybody  agreed  to  it — and  finally,  a  most 
essential  point,  if  nobody  opposed  it — then,  and  in  that  case,  and  provided 
also  that  due  intimation  were  given — the  bill  in  question  might  pass — would 
pass — or  might,  could,  would,  or  should  pass — all  exjicnses  being  defrayed 
■ — (Laughter.). — He  was  the  advocate  of  neither  champion,  and  would  nci 
ther  avail  himself  of  the  absence  of  the  Right  Hon.  the  Lord  Provost,  nor 
take  advantage  of  the  non-appearance  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Cockburn. — 
(Laughter.) — But  in  the  midst  of  these  civic  broils,  there  had  been  elicited 
a  ray  of  hope,  that  at  some  future  period,  in  Beresford  Park,  or  some  other 
place,  if  all  parties  were  consulted  and  satisfied,  and  if  intimation  were 
duly  made  at  the  Kirk  doors  of  all  parishes  in  Scotland,  in  terms  of  the 
statute  in  that  behalf  provided — the  people  of  Edinburgh  might  by  possi- 
bility get  a  new  theatre. — (Cheers  and  laughter.) — But  wherever  the  bel- 
ligerent powers  might  be  pleased  to  set  down  this  new  theatre,  he  was  sure 
they  all  hoped  to  meet  the  Old  Company  in  it. — He  should  therefore  pro- 
pose— "  Better  accommodation  to  the  Old  Company  in  the  New  Theatre, 
site  unknown." — Mr.  Robertson's  speech  was  most  humorously  given,  and 
he  sat  down  amidst  loud  cheers  and  laughter. 

Sir  Walter  Scoit. — Wherever  the  new  theatre  is  built,  I  hope  it  will 
not  be  large.  There  are  two  errors  which  we  commonly  commit — the  one 
arising  from  our  pride,  the  other  from  our  poverty.  If  there  are  twelve 
plans,  it  is  odds  but  the  largest,  without  any  regard  to  comfort,  or  an  eye 
to  the  probable  expense,  is  adopted.  There  was  the  College  projected  on 
this  scale,  and  undertaken  in  the  same  manner,  and  who  shall  see  the  end  of 
it  ?  It  has  been  building  all  my  life,  and  may  probably  last  during  the  lives 
of  my  children  and  my  children's  children.  Let  not  the  same  prophetic 
hvmn  be  sung,  when  we  commence  a  new  theatre,  which  was  performed 
on  the  occasion  of  laying  the  foundation-stone  of  a  certain  edifice,  "Behold 
the  endless  work  begun."  Play-going  folk  should  attend  somewhat  to  con- 
venience. The  new  theatre  should,  in  the  first  place,  be  such  as  may  be 
finished  in  eighteen  months  or  two  years ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  it 
should  be  one  in  which  we  can  hear  our  old  friends  with  comfort.  It  is 
better  that  a  moderate-sized  house  should  be  crowded  now  and  then,  than 
to  have  a  large  theatre  with  benches  continually  empty,  to  the  discourage- 
ment of  the  actors,  and  the  discomfort  of  the  spectators. — (Applause.)  He 
then  commented  in  flattering  terms  on  the  genius  of  Mackenzie  and  his 
private  worth,  and  concluded  by  proposing  "  The  health  of  Henry  Mac- 
kenzie, Esq." 

Immediately  afterward  he  said:  Gentlemen, — It  is  now  wearing  late, 
and  I  shall  request  permission  to  retire.  Like  Partridge  I  may  say,  '*  fion 
sum  qjialls  eramy  At  my  time  of  day,  I  can  agree  with  Lord  Ogleby  as  to 
his  rheumatism,  and  say,  "  There's  a  twinge."  I  hope,  therefore,  you  will 
excuse  me  for  leaving  the  chair. — (The  worthy  Baronet  then  retired  amidst 
loud,  long,  and  rapturous  cheering.) 

Mr.  Patrick  Robertson  was  then  called  to  the  chair  by  common  ac- 
clamation. 

Gentlemen,  said  Mr.  Robertson,  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking  you  to 
fill  a  bumper  to  the  very  brim.  There  is  not  one  of  us  who  will  not  re- 
member while  he  lives  being  j^resent  at  this  day's  festival,  and  the  declara- 
tion made  this  night  by  the  gentleman  who  has  just  left  the  chair.  That 
declaration  has  rent  the  veil  from  the  features  of  the  Great  Unknown— 


NOTES. 


171 


a  name  which  must  now  merge  in  the  name  of  the  Great  Known  It  will 
be  henceforth  coupled  with  the  name  of  Scott,  which  will  become  famil- 
iar like  a  household  word.  We  have  heard  this  confession  from  his  own 
immortal  lips — (cheering) — and  we  cannot  dwell  with  too  much,  or  too 
fervent  praise,  on  the  merits  of  the  greatest  man  whom  Scotland  has 
produced. 

After  which,  several  other  toasts  were  given,  and  Mr.  Robertson  left  the 
room  about  half-past  eleven.  A  few  choice  spirits,  however,  rallied  round 
Captain  ISroadhead.  of  the  7th  Hussars,  who  was  called  to  the  chair,  and 
the  festivity  was  prolonged  till  an  early  hour  on  Saturday  morning. 

The  band  of  the  Theatre  occupied  the  gallery,  and  that  of  the  7th 
Hussars  the  end  of  the  room,  opposite  the  chair,  whose  performances 
were  greatly  admired.  It  is  but  justice  to  Mr.  Gibb  to  state,  that  the 
dinner  was  very  handsome  (though  slowly  served  in)  and  the  wines  good. 
The  attention  of  the  stewards  was  exemplary.  Mr.  Murray  and  Mr. 
Vandenhoff  with  great  good  taste,  attended  on  Sir  Walter  Scott's  right 
and  left,  and  we  know  that  he  has  expressed  himself  much  gratified  by 
lti\eir  anxious  politeness  and  sedulity. 


NOTE  TO  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 


Note,  p.  150. — Robert  Bonn's  Poems. 

I  cannot  dismiss  this  story  without  resting  attention  for  a  moment  on  the 
light  which  has  been  thrown  on  the  character  of  the  Highland  Drover  since 
the  time  of  its  first  appearance,  by  the  account  of  a  drover  poet,  by  name 
Robert  Mackay,  or,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  Rob  Donn,  /.  ^.' brown 
Robert,  and  certain  specimens  of  his  talents,  published  in  the  90th  Number 
of  the  Quarterly  Review.  The  picture  which  that  paper  gives  of  the  habits 
and  feelings  of  a  class  of  persons  with  which  the  general  reader  would  be 
apt  to  associate  no  ideas  but  those  of  wild  superstition  and  rude  manners,  is 
in  the  highest  degree  interesting;  and  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of 
quoting  two  of  the  songs  of  this  hitherto  unheard-of  poet  of  humble  life. 
They  are  thus  introduced  by  the  reviewer  : — 

"  Upon  one  occasion,  it  seems,  Rob's  attendance  upon  his  master's 
cattle  business  detained  him  a  whole  year  from  home,  and  at  his  return  he 
found  that  a  fair  maiden,  to  whom  his  troth  had  been  plighted  of  yore,  had 
lost  sight  of  her  vows,  and  was  on  the  eve  of  being  married  to  a  rival  (a 
carpenter  by  trade),  who  had  profited  by  the  young  drover's  absence.  The 
following  song  was  composed  during  a  sleepless  night,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Crieff,  in  Perthshire,  and  the  home  sickness  which  it  expresses  appears 
to  be  almost  as  much  that  of  the  deer-hunter  as  of  the  loving  swain  : — 

'  Easy  is  my  bed,  it  is  easy. 

But  it  is  not  to  sleep  that  I  incline  ; 
The  wind  whistles  northwards,  northwards^ 

And  my  thonghts  moz'e  with  it. 
More  pleasant  were  it  to  be  with  thee 

In  the  little  glen  of  calves, 

Than  to  be  counting  of  droves 

In  the  enclosures  of  Crieff. 

Easy  is  my  bed,  etc, 

•  Great  is  my  esteem  of  the  maiden. 

Towards  whose  dwelling  the  north  wind  blows; 
She  is  ever  cheerful,  sportive,  kindly, 

Without  follv,  without  vanity,  without  pride. 
True  is  her  heart — were  I  under  hiding. 

And  fifty  men  in  pursuit  of  my  footsteps, 
I  should  find  protection,  when  they  surrounded  me  most  closefyj 
In  the  secret  recess  of  that  shieling. 

Easy  is  my  bed,  etc. 


NOTES  TO  THE  TWO  DROVERS.  173 

'  Oh  for  the  day  for  turning  my  face  homeward, 

That  I  may  see  the  maiden  of  beauty: — 
Joyful  will  it  be  to  me  to  be  with  thee, 

Fair  girl  with  the  long  heavy  locks  1 — 
Choice  of  all  places  for  deer  hunting 

Are  the  brindled  rock  and  the  ridge  ! 
How  sweet  at  evening  to  be  dragging  the  slain  deer 
Downward  along  the  piper's  cairn  I 

Easy  is  my  bed,  etc. 

•Great  is  my  esteem  for  the  maiden 

Who  parted  from  me  by  the  west  side  of  the  enclosed  field* 
Late  yet  again  will  she  linger  in  that  fold, 

Long  after  the  kine  are  assembled. 
It  is  I  myself  who  have  taken  no  dislike  to  thee, 

Though  far  away  from  thee  am  I  now. 
It  is  for  the  thought  of  thee  that  sleep  flies  from  me; 
Great  is  the  profit  to  me  of  thy  parting  kiss  ! 
Easy  is  tny  bed,  etc. 

'Dear  to  me  are  the  boundaries  of  the  forest; 
Far  from  Crieff  is  my  heart ; 
My  remembrance  is  of  the  hillocks  of  sheep, 

And  the  heath  of  many  knolls. 
Oh  for  the  red  streaked  fissures  of  the  rock, 

Where  in  spring  time  the  fawns  leap; 
Oh  for  the  crags  towards  which  the  wind  is  blowing — 
Cheap  would  be  my  bed  to  be  there  I 

Easy  is  my  bed,  etc. 

"  The  following  describes  Rob's  feelings  on  the  first  discovery  of  his 
damsel's  infidelity.     The  airs  of  both  these  pieces  are  his  own,  and,  the 
Highland  ladies  say,  very  beautiful. 

Heavy  to  me  is  the  shieling,  and  the  hum  that  is  in  it. 
Since  the  ear  that  was  wont  to  listen  is  now  no  more  on  the  watch. 
Where  is  Isabel,  the   courteous,  the  conversable,  a  sister  in  kindness  ? 
Where  is  Anne,  the  slender-browed,  the  turret-breasted,  whose  glossy  hair 

pleased  me  when  yet  a  boy  ? 
Heich  !  what  an  hour  was  my  retnrning, 
Pain  such  as  that  sunset  brought,  zuhat  availeth  7ne  to  tell  it  ? 

I  traversed  the  fold,  and  upward  among  the  trees — 

Each  place,  far  and  near,  wherein  I  was  wont  to  salute  my  love. 

When  I  looked  down  from  the  crag,  and  beheld  the  fair-haired  stranger 

dallying  with  his  bride, 
I  wished  that  I  had  never  revisited  the  glen  of  my  dreams. 
Such  things  came  into  my  heart  as  that  sun  was  going  down, 
A  pain  of  which  I  shall  never  be  rid,  what  availeth  me  to  tell  it  ? 

Since  it  hath  been  heard  that  the  carpenter  hath  persuaded  thee, 
My  sleep  is  disturbed — busy  is  foolishness  within  me  at  midnight. 
The  kindness  that  has  been  between  us, — I  cannot  shake  off  that  memory 

in  visions ; 
Thou  callest  me  not  to  thy  side ;  but  love  is  to  me  for  a  messenger. 
There  is  strife  within  me,  and  I  toss  to  be  at  liberty  ; 
And  ever  the  closer  it  clings,  and  the  delusion  is  growing  to  me  as  a  tree. 


tfi  NOISES  TO  THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

'  Anne,  yclIow-haircd  daughter  of  Donald,  surely  thou  knowest  not  how  it 

is  with  me — 
That  it  is  old  love,  unrepaid,  which  has  worn  down  from  me  my  strength; 
That  when  far  from  thee,  beyond  many  mountains,  the  wound  in  m)  heart 

was  throbbing, 
Stirring  and  searching  forever,  as  when  I  sat  beside  thee  on  the  turf. 
A^mu,  theii,  hear  me  this  once,  iffom'er  I  am  to  be  without  thee. 
My  spirit  is  bruken — give  vie  one  kiss  ere  I  leave  this  land  I 

'  Haughtily  and  scornfully  the  maiden  looked  upon  me  ; 

Never  will  it  be  work  for  thy  fingers  to  unloose  the  band  from  my  curls; 

Thou  hast  been  absent  a  twelvemonth,  and  six  were  seeking  me  dili- 
gently; 

Was  thy  superiority  so  high,  that  there  should  be  no  end  of  abiding  for 
thee  ? 

Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — hast  thou  at  last  become  sick  ? 

Is  it  love  that  is  to  give  death  to  thee  I  surely  the  enemy  has  been  in  no  haste. 

*  But  how  shall  I  hate   thee,  even   though  toward  me  thou  hast  become 
cold? 
When  my  discourse  is  most  angry  concerning  thy  name  in  thine  absence. 
Of  a  sudden  thine  image,  with  its  old  dearness   comes  visibly  into    my 

mind  ; 
And  a  secret  voice  whispers  that  love  will  yet  prevail  I 
And  I  become  surety  for  it  anew,  darling, 
And  it  springs  up  at  that  hour  lofty  as  a  tower.' 

"  Rude  and  bald  as  these  things  appear  in  a  verbal  translation,  and 
rough  as  they  might  possibly  appear,  even  were  the  originals  intelligible,  we 
confess  we  are  disposed  to  think  they  would  of  themselves  justify  Dr. 
Mackay  (their  Editor)  in  placing  this  herdsman-lover  among  the  true  sons 
of  song." — Qtiarterly  P^yj^-u  No.  XC,  July  1831. 


GLOSSARY  TO  THE  CHRONICLES. 


Ad  GrvECas  kalendas,  at  the  Greek  Ca- 
lends (an  indefinite  period). 

Aught,  possession,  property. 

Ave  Regina  C^eli,  hail,  Mother  of 
Heaven  ! 

AwMous,  alms. 

Bauld,  bold. 

BiEN,  frugal. 

BiGGiNG,  building. 

Bon  gre,  mal  gre,  good  grace,  bad  grace. 

Carritch,  catechism. 

Chappit,  struck. 

Chere  exquise,  exquisite  cheer. 

CONJURO  vos  omnes,  spiritus  maligni, 
MAGNi  et  parvi,  I  coHJure  you,  spirits  of 
evil,  great  and  small. 

Cracks,  gossip. 

Craw,  an  intoxicating  drink. 

Deus  voBiscuM,  God  be  with  you. 

Dbvoir,  duty,  service. 

Do  VENiAM,  I  give  pardoner  leave. 

Elbvb,  scholar  or  cadet. 

Es  SPUKT,  it  is  a  spirit. 

Ex  capite  lecti,  from  the  head  of  the 
bed. 

Ex  CATHEDRA,  from  the  chair. 

Fabliaux,  fables. 

Fash,  trouble. 

Fauteuil,  arm-chair. 

FiANCAiLLES,  espousals. 

Forbears,  ancestors. 

Grew,  greyhound. 

HX-C    NOS    NOVIMUS     ESSE     NIHIL,    this     We 

understood  to  be  nothing. 
HiNX  iLL.«  LACHRVMiE,  hence  these  tears. 
Ipsa  corpora,  the  very  pieces. 
JONGLERiE,  jugglery. 

Kain,  a  tax  payable  to  the  landlord  in  kind. 
Lai,  lay,  ditty. 

MeMBRORUM  DAMNO  OMNI  MAJOR,  DIMEN- 
TIA,  QUM  NEC  NOMINA  SERVORUM,  NEC 
VULTUM,  AGNOSOT  AMICORUM,  with  the 
loss  of  all  his  members,  and  worse,  the 
loss  of  mind|  which  prevents  him  recogniz- 


ing either  the  names  of  his  servants  or  the 

faces  of  his  friends. 
Mezzo  termini,  half  limits. 
Morbus  sonticus,  a  noisome  disease. 
NoMiNis   UMBRA,    Under    the    shade    of  a 

name. 
NoN  audet,  ni.si  qvje  dedicit,  dare  quod 

MEDICORUM    EST  ;     PROMITTUNT    MEDICI, 

tractant  fabrilia  fabri,  no  one 
dares  to  prescribe  medicine  who  has  not 
studied  that  science  ;  physicians  promise 
what  comes  within  their  skill,  and  arti- 
ficers mind  only  their  own  craft. 

OwER,  over. 

Persona  standi  in  judicio,  personal  power 
to  prosecute. 

Pokte-cocherh,  carriage-entrance- 

Qui  jurat  proximo  et  non  decipit,  '  who 
hath  not  sworn  deceitfully.' 

Ratten,  a  rat. 

Reiving,  roving. 

Reveche,  tart. 

Row,  roll. 

Rus  in  urbe,  the  country  in  the  town. 

Sang  froid,  coolly. 

Satis  est  mi  fili,  enough,  my  son. 

ScHELM,  rascal. 

Skirl,  screech. 

SoCTETAs  MATER  DiscoRDiAM,  partnership, 
the  mother  of  discord. 

Sporran,  a  purse. 

Sub  vexillo  regis  apud  pr.«lium  juxta 
Branxton,  under  the  royal  standard  in 
the  battle  near  Branxton. 

Tod,  a  fox. 

Tremor  cordis,  a  quaking  of  the  heart. 

Vis  unita  fortior,  united  strength  is 
stronger. 

Vix  EA  nostra  voco,  I  declare  this  hardly 
our  own. 

Volenti  non  fit  injuria,  to  the  willing 
there  is  no  injury  done. 

Wean,  an  infant 

Wheen,  a  few. 


ijS 


INDEX. 


MacLeish,  Donald,  the  postilion,  xviii. 
Guides  Mrs.  Baliol  into  the  Highlands,  64. 

MacTavish.  Kispat,  the  Highland  Widow, 
70.  Grief  of  the  enlistment  of  her  son,  85. 
Incites  him  to  desert,  87.  Drugs  him,  94. 
Kneels  to  him  for  pardon,  103.  Blames 
Heaven,  no.  Hears  of  her  son's  execu- 
tion, 118.     Disappears,  120. 

MacTavish,  Hamish,  72. 

MacTavish,  Hamish  Baen,  74.  Enlists,  78. 
Visit  to  his  mother,  83.  Horror  of  tlie 
lash,  89.  Sees  his  father's  ghost,  92. 
Drinks  the  drugged  potion,  94.  Awakens 
too  late,  97-  Shoots  Sergeant  Cameron, 
108.     Arrest,  108.     Executed,  114. 

Mail-coaches,  dislike  to,  19. 

Meadowbank,  Lord,  speech  on  the  Author, 
162. 

Menzies,  Mr.  W.,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund 
Dinner,  168. 

Morrison,  Hugh,  the  drover,  130.  Gives 
back  the  dirk  to  Robin,  143. 

Mottoes,  Author's  explanation  of,  xiii. 

Murray,  William,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund 
Dinner,  164. 

Oldbuck,  Jonathan,  prototype  of,  x. 
Old  Mortality,  Mr.  Tram's  notes  on,  viii. 

Paralytic,  the,  6. 

Pastimes,  123. 

Paterson,  Robert,  Mr.  Train's  notes  on,  vi. 

Perodicals,  advantages  of,  44. 

Postilions,  63. 

Rasp  iron,  note  en,  124. 

Revenge,  predetermined,  148. 

Robin  Oig  M'Combich,  the  drover,  127. 
Gives  up  his  dirk,  130.  Wakefield's  cattle 
torned  out  for  his,  135.    Quarrel  in  the 


alehouse,   138.     Gets  back  his  dirk,   i4|. 

And  stabs  VVakefield  to  death,  144.  Judg?9 
charge  to  the  jury,  146.    And  execution,  3 18. 
Robertson,  Patrick,  speeches  at  the  Theatre 
Fund  Dinner,  164. 


Sanxtuarv  of  Holyrood,  note,  122. 
Scotch  dialect,  difference  in,  56. 
Sic  itur  ad  astra,  i. 
Sommerviile,  a  paralytic,  6. 
.Sonimervilles,  family  of,  13. 
Steele.     See  Christie. 
Steele  the  Covenanter,  note,  152. 
Stewart  of  Inveraahyle,  x. 

Talbot,  Colonel,  protype,  x. 
Theatre,  Author's  speech  on  the,  130. 
Theatrical  Fund  Dinner,  note,  158. 
Train,  Joseph,  assistance  to  the  Author,  yii. 
Treddles,  Mr.,  senior,  23. 
Two  Drovers,  Author's  explanation,  xviii. 
Two  Drovers,  tale  of,  126. 
Tyrie,  Rev.  Michael,  communicates  her  son's 
execution  to  the  Highland  Widow,  118. 

Vandenhoff,  Mr.,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund 
Dinner,  165. 

Watik's  Highland  roads,  67. 

Wakefield,  Harry,  the  English  drover, 
131.  His  beasts  turned  out  for  Robin's, 
I35'  Quarrel  in  the  alehouse,  138.  Stabbed 
to  death  by  Robin,  144. 

Waverley  and  Talbot,  explanation  of,  x. 

Whitefoord,  Colonel,  xi. 

Winton,  Earl  of,  note  on,  125. 

Wolfs  Hope,  prototype  of,  xiii. 

Writing,  man's  character  told  from,  15 


INDEX  TO  CHRONICLES. 


Age,  tautology  of,  $$■ 

Allan,  Mr.  W.,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund 
Dinner,  i5g. 

Anonymous  position  of  the  Author,  motives 
of,  xiv. 

Antiquary's  shop,  easily  established,  42. 

Arlechino,  Author's  likeness  to,  v. 

Author  drops  hit  mask,  iii.  Financial  mis- 
fortunes, iii.  Late  cf  beginning  to 
publish,  xiv.  Motives  of  concealment,  xv. 
Avowal  at  Theatrical  Fund  Dinner,  163. 

Authors,  habits  of  jealousy,  163. 

Baliol,  Mrs.  Bethune,  prototype  of,  xviii, 
description  of,  44.  Her  lodging  in  the 
Canongate,  48.  Reminiscences  of  Scot- 
land, 58  Her  story  of  the  Highland 
Widow,  63. 

Beauffet  the  butler,  50. 

Bell,  Mr.  Glassford,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund 
Dinner,  167. 

Black  Watch,  51. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor,  Author's  explana- 
tion, ix. 

Cameron,  Sergeant  Allan,  shot  by  Mac- 
Tavish,  108. 

Campbell,  Captain  of  the  Black  Watch, 
112. 

Canongate  of  Edinburgh,  i. 

Castle  Treddles,  22. 

Cattle-driving,  126. 

Chalmers,  James,  x. 

Characters  of  the  novels.  Author's  explana- 
tion, ix. 

Chatham,  Earl,  schemes  of  raising  Highland 
regiments,  95 

Christie  Steele,  27.  Defames  Croftangry's 
character,  33. 

Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  Author's  plan 
of,  xvii. 

Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  continuation, 
123. 

Cloght-dearg,  115. 

Clydesdale,  vale  of,  29. 

Cotton-mills  useful  to  the  country,  30. 

Croftangry,  Chrystal,  Author's  explanation, 
xviii.  Enters  the  sanctuary  of  Holyrood, 
2.  Revisits  his  paralytic  friead,  5.  His 
pedigree,  33.  Revisits  Glentanner,  19. 
Christie  Steele  defames  him,  33,  Settles 
in  the  Canongate  with  Janet  MacEvoy,  37. 

groposes    to    publish,    43.       Visits     Mrs. 
ialiol,  44. 
Croftangry  introduces  another  ta'p,  1.-13. 

Dbskstion,  military  punishment  uj"   88. 


Donn's  poems,  note  on,  169. 
Drama,  Author's  speech  on,  159. 
Drovers,  Highland,  126. 
Duntarkin,  29. 

Eglinton,  Countess,  noie,  56. 
Elspat.     See  MacTavish. 

Fairscribe,  Mr.,  11. 
Fleecebumpkin,  the  bailiff,  133. 

Gambling,  small,  10. 

Glentanner,   estate  of,    13.      Advertisement 

of  sale,  18.     Revisited,  23. 
Goldie,  Mrs.,  assistance  to  the  Author,  viiL 
Grand  climacteric,  2. 

Hamish  Baen.     See  MacTavish. 
Heskett,  Ralph,  the  innkeeper,  136. 
Highland  chiefs,  good  manners  of,  60. 
Highland  regiments,  when  first  raised,  95. 
Highland    Widow,    tale    of,    63.     See    also 

MacTavish. 
Highlanders  becoming  common,  124.     Good 

cattle-drivers,  126. 
Highlanders,  fideUty  of,  note  on,  154. 
Holyrood  asylum  for  debt,  3.     Note,  151, 

Income-tax,  extreme  loyalty  in  paying,  51. 
Ireby,  the  squire,  133. 

Jeanie  Deans,  Mrs.  Goldie's  notes  on,  viii. 

Janet.     See  MacEvoy. 

Janet  of  Tomahourich,  128. 

Jones,  Mr.,  speech  at  Theatre  Fund  Dinner, 

166. 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  maxims  of,  43. 

Keith  Murray,  Mrs.,  xvii, xviii. 
Kennedy,  Susannah,  fiote,  56. 
Kinedder,  Lord,  xii. 

Lambskin,  Mrs.  Alice,  53. 
Legend  of  Montrose,  note  on,  xiL 
Loch  Awe,  66. 
Loyalty,  staggering  test  of,  51. 

M'AuLAY,  Allan,  note  on,  xiL 

M'Combich.     See  Robin. 

MacCready,  Archy,  49. 

MacDougal  of  Lorn,  battle  with  Bruce,  66. 

MacEvoy,  Janet,  receives  Croftangry  back 

to  the  Canongate,  37. 
MacGregor  of  Glenstrae,  note  on,  154. 
Mackay,  Mr.,  speeches  at  Theatre    Fvmd 

Dinner,  161, 


S3 1  7 
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